


How Do You Want Me?

by HurtStiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Aftercare, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Beating, Blood, Bloodplay, Bondage, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Caning, Captivity, Comfort/Angst, Corporal Punishment, Dark, Desperation, Discipline, Dissociation, Dom/sub, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Eventual Happy Ending, Forced Orgasm, Forced Relationship, Gore, Heavy Angst, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Knotting, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nudity, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Paddling, Pain, Painplay, Power Imbalance, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Steo, Stockholm Syndrome, Strapping, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Top Theo Raeken, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Whipping, Whump, but of a very screwed up kind, dark!steo, non consensual dom / sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4579197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurtStiles/pseuds/HurtStiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' hands twisted uselessly over his head as he struggled with the heavy, rusting manacles encasing his wrists. Rising up on tiptoes in an attempt to get some slack, he craned his neck upward, trying to get a better look at how he was secured. He was so focused on it that he didn't notice his visitor until the other boy spoke.</p><p>"Don't bother, Stiles. Those chains could hold a werewolf; I'm pretty sure you're not going to do them any damage." </p><p>Stiles jerked, startled at the voice, his bare toes slipping on the mildew slick cement floor and making him grab onto the dangling chains for balance as he crashed back down to a sturdier standing position.</p><p>Theo was standing in the doorway of the dank, windowless little room with a smirk on his face and something that looked suspiciously like a riding crop in his hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Honey, I wanna break you

**Author's Note:**

> The seeds of this story were initially posted as drabbles on tumblr and have since turned into a full-fledged, multi-chapter endeavor. This is a dark, angsty whump fic that contains rape and torture. Please pay attention to the tags and don't read if any of these things could be hurtful or triggery for you. 
> 
> The title of the story is from the [Meg Myers song, _"Desire"_](https://youtu.be/y5k04yzWY1s), which I highly recommend listening to if you haven't heard it, because it is a rather perfect song for dark!Steo. 
> 
> I've gotten a lot of great suggestions and ideas from people on tumblr, and will be attempting to work as many of them into this as I can. I want to say a big thank you to the lovely [Inderlander](http://inderlander.tumblr.com/) ([cranapplepye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CranApplePye/pseuds/CranApplePye) here on AO3) for beta-ing and for helping me brainstorm how to organize all the ideas together in a way that makes sense. You are brilliant at coming up with how to connect and plan things my dear, and I'm insanely grateful. I have a bad habit of continuing to futz with the chapters after they've been betaed, so any and all mistakes are all my own (and I'm sure there are plenty). 
> 
> Check out my Hurt!Stiles devoted tumblr, if you want to: [**hurt-stiles**](http://hurt-stiles.tumblr.com/)

Stiles' hands twisted uselessly over his head as he struggled with the heavy, rusting manacles encasing his wrists. Rising up on tiptoes in an attempt to get some slack, he craned his neck upward, trying to get a better look at how he was secured. He was so focused on it that he didn't notice his visitor until the other boy spoke.

"Don't bother, Stiles. Those chains could hold a werewolf; I'm pretty sure you're not going to do them any damage." 

Stiles jerked, startled at the voice, his bare toes slipping on the mildew slick cement floor and making him grab onto the dangling chains for balance as he crashed back down to a sturdier standing position.

Theo was standing in the doorway of the dank, windowless little room with a smirk on his face and something that looked suspiciously like a riding crop in his hand.

Stiles glared at him, and if looks could kill, the other boy would be a smoldering pile of ash. "Oh, it's you. I was wondering when you'd slither out of the woodwork." He was shivering a little, but only because he was cold. Whatever fucktard had strung him up down here like a side of beef had also seen fit to strip him naked, and bad-guy basement lairs were not notorious for their cozy heating.

"Now that's not very nice, after I came all the way down here just to check on you and see how you were doing," Theo mocked with wounded sincerity. His gaze raked up and down the other boy's exposed body, taking him in with an amused, assessing eye as he walked around Stiles in a slow circle.

Stiles' scowl intensified as he twisted in his bonds, attempting to track Theo's movements. He felt much more vulnerable than he wanted to let on and was not at all comfortable letting the werewolf out of his sight. "I _knew_ you were a bastard. I _knew_ you were lying your ass off ever since you showed up."

Theo pressed up unexpectedly against his back, his hands gripping Stiles' sides and his chin resting on the other teen's shoulder in a mockery of casual intimacy. Stiles yelped and tried to jerk away, but he had no leverage and the werewolf was too strong.

"What do you want, Stiles, a cookie for being right? It didn't exactly do you any good. No one believed you." Theo sounded smug as he let the long, thin, leather-tipped rod in his right hand glide slowly down across the length of Stiles' naked abdomen.

Yes, that was _definitely_ a riding crop, and Stiles wasn't at all sure he wanted to know why exactly Theo was carrying it or where he got it. He shuddered slightly, Theo's warmth unwelcome against his body, despite how cold he was.

" _Wow,_ and I didn't think _anyone_ could be creepier than Peter Hale. Congratulations, Theo, you win the evil psycho door prize." Stiles grit out, his ears burning but _refusing_ to otherwise react as Theo teased down between his legs with the crop. "So, like, is molesting random guys in dungeons how you get your rocks off, or are you actually here for some reason _other_ than just being a creepy fucker?"

Theo chuckled against his shoulder and stepped back. "Actually, the Doctors want to test your healing rate, or something like that. I didn't get all the technical details, but basically, they want you messed up before they start their procedures so they can measure whatever it is they measure. I volunteered to help out." Theo was wearing that deceptively friendly, boyish smile of his, but there was a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

Stiles swallowed, his quick mind slotting the pieces together immediately, even as he wished it hadn't. "Well, that sounds fake, but okay," he snarked. "You're just such a helpful guy all around, I'm sure this has _nothing_ to do with you being a sadistic creeper who doesn't like me."

Theo's grin widened. He shook his head. " _Stiles_..." he remonstrated with wounded innocence. "Why would you think that? I like you, I _do_. I think you're smart, loyal, and clever ... and I think you'll be fucking _beautiful_ when you scream."

Theo brought the crop down hard across the back of Stiles' shoulders, making him yelp and jerk in pain. He followed up with three more harsh cuts across his upper back before dropping his aim lower and peppering a dozen blindingly rapid blows across the human's ass.

Stiles twisted and tried to dance away from the pain, but there was barely enough give in the chain suspending his arms to allow him to stand flat-footed on the floor; there certainly wasn't enough to allow to him to escape the punishment. The pain was raw, fiery and much more intense than he thought it had any right to be. It took his breath away and left him gasping with the effort of not crying out.

Theo stopped after a minute. He ran his fingers across the upraised lines of pain he'd created across Stiles' back before cupping one heated ass cheek in his hand. He squeezed, stroking and massaging the hurting flesh as if testing the texture of the welts. "It's okay to let go, you know," Theo told him in an almost conciliatory tone. "You can be as loud as you want, nobody will hear you."

Stiles grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, anger raging in his chest and his face burning with a sickly heat that did not make him warm. He could feel every pulsing line of fire that had been drawn across his chilled flesh throbbing in time with his rapid heartbeat and Theo's touch was both painful and humiliating, not to mention creepy. "Yeah, well, thanks, but I'm good," he spit back.

Without warning, Theo popped his claws and raked them down the sides of Stiles' ribs and hips, not deep, but deep enough to draw blood.

" _Aahnng...!"_ Stiles choked off his cry forcefully, refusing to give the bastard what he was after. "Did you know," he panted through his teeth, bloodied sides heaving. "that I know about a dozen different ways to kill a werewolf? _Painful_ ways. Painful ways to kill you. To _death_."

Theo actually chuckled. He gave Stiles' sore ass cheek a slap that was too hard to really be playful. "Gotten a taste for it now, have you? You enjoy killing Donovan that much?"

Stiles didn't rise to the bait. "I'd enjoy killing _you_ that much."

Theo gave him another sharp cut with the crop across his already throbbing ass and Stiles hissed, rocking forward and clenching his fists. "Oh yeah, big stake of mistletoe-wrapped mountain ash in your future, buddy. _Big_ one. Right up your fucking ass."

The blows came slower and more methodically now, across his butt, down his thighs, sometimes straying up to his back and shoulders. Theo was supernaturally strong and he wasn't holding back. The lashes were already starting to draw blood, mingling it with the tracks left by his claws.

"Kinky. You want to fuck my ass, Stiles? I didn't know you cared," Theo mocked. "Well that's not really my thing, although I wouldn't mind fucking _yours._ Tell you what, if you're a good boy, I'll let you suck my dick when we're done here, huh?"

"Only if you want to lose it," Stiles snarled. Theo whipped him over and over. He whimpered and choked on the pain, refusing to let it out as anything but spite and vinegar. _Oh God, it hurt._ His arms and legs were beginning to tremble. His eyes burned with moisture that was just pain, not tears, because he wasn't crying, his eyes were just _watering._

"You know no one's coming to save you, Stiles," Theo murmured, the exertion he was putting into the beating making him a trifle breathless, or maybe it was excitement. Maybe he got off on this. "Your _friends_ don't even know you're _gone_ ," he taunted. "It's not like any of them are really speaking to one another right now. God knows how long it will be until they even notice you're not around. If they notice your absence at all, it's probably just a relief."

Stiles knew what Theo was doing, and it shouldn't have hurt like a dull knife in his stomach, but it did anyway. "See, this is ... _ahh ..._ what you get for ... _ngh ..._ being a newbie and-and not knowing shit," he shot back, trying to rock with the blows and attempting to keep the treacherous, pained warble out of his seething voice. "You think that's supposed to ... _nnh_ ... scare me? Newsflash, asshole, this is ... _ahh ..._ not a new development. Waiting for the cavalry is highly overrated. I've been ... _NNHG ..._ rescuing _myself_ just fine for a-a long time, thank you very much. _Nnnhg! Ow!_ Mother _fucker._ "

Theo gave a low, appreciative hum. "God, you really are perfect, Stiles," he murmured as he mercilessly walloped the crease between Stiles' butt and his trembling thighs over, and over. "Fucking perfect."

Stiles couldn't tell if the praise was ironic or sincere, or decide which scenario was more disturbing. The blazing, ungodly pain Theo was blistering into his skin was pretty much absorbing all his attention. Tears were tracing freely down his cheeks and his raw shoulders shook with aborted sobs. He was trying so hard not to give into the hurt. He fought it with everything he had, but it wasn't enough. He couldn't hold out forever. The pain was too much, and finally it overwhelmed him.

Theo hit him in the same spot for what seemed like the hundredth time and Stiles could no longer hold back the choked cry that escaped him, or the next one, or the next. Soon he was screaming helplessly, sobbing and choking on the agony that just didn't end. 

Behind him, Theo smiled.  "I knew you'd be beautiful."

Stiles thought that maybe when he gave in and started screaming, that would be enough for Theo, but to his despair, the other boy gave no indication of winding down the beating, if anything, Stiles' agonized responses seemed to egg him to hit harder and faster.

The pain was consuming. Stiles had been hurt plenty of times before, but never like _this._

Running out of undamaged skin on his back, butt and the back of his thighs, Theo kicked Stiles' legs apart so he could get at his inner thighs. Stiles howled and tried to keep his legs together, but Theo just kept forcing them open again.

"No," Stiles sobbed, his body shaking, legs barely able to support him any longer. "No... s-stop, stop!" He wanted it to be a demand, but it was clearly a plea, a humiliating, urgent, agonized plea. He couldn't take any more, he really couldn't. "Stop, stop..." he sobbed over and over. "Oh god... p-please. No-no more. _Theo!_ Stop! Please, oh please, god, stop!" He was begging and he didn't care anymore, _couldn't_ care, he desperately needed this to end.

To his surprise, Theo actually did pause for a minute. The werewolf's moved in closer, his hand closing in a firm grip across the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles could feel the tips of Theo's claws pricking his skin, but weirdly, it seemed intended as a steadying, rather than a threatening, gesture. Theo squeezed his neck reassuringly, grounding Stiles against the pain he himself was inflicting.

"Say my name, Stiles," Theo murmured, his breath brushing Stiles' arm and his flushed, tear-damp cheek. He unexpectedly whacked  the crop in his free hand against the side of Stiles' hip, catching him across the scratches and the tail ends of the welts he'd already laid there.

Stiles gave a hoarse little cry, his body jerking and his head dropping forward.

Theo's hand stayed on his neck. His claws had retracted and he rubbed contradictorily soothing circles into Stiles' agony taut muscles with his thumb as he slowly and deliberately hit him again, feeling the jolt as it transmitted through Stiles' trembling, twitching body.

"Say it," Theo murmured again, his tone deceptively soft and coaxing, demanding but gentle. "Call out for me, Stiles."

Theo hit him again, and again across the same burning, abused spot on his hip and up his injured side and Stiles pressed his eyes shut around a choked sob.  " _Theo_ ," he sobbed, his raw throat choking and catching around the word. "Theo, _please..._ "

Stiles felt the small shudder that ran through Theo's body through the hand still clamped possessively on the back of his neck.  Theo bent his head close to the gap between Stiles' suspended arm and the side of his head, inhaling deeply as if scenting him. "Beg me, Stiles. Beg for me," he prompted softly, his voice still holding that disturbingly out of place gentleness that seemed completely at odds with his actions.

Tears streamed from Stiles' clenched eyes. "Please, Theo, please no more. It hurts, Theo, it _hurts_..." Stiles sobbed shakily, knowing that was what Theo wanted to hear. He'd realized what Theo wanted from the moment the werewolf's manner had changed upon first hearing him stutter out his name. Stiles couldn't begin to understand _why,_ or what twisted game his captor was playing, but he really didn't care at this point. He'd do anything that had even the slightest chance of making the beating end.

He felt Theo inhale sharply against his skin before he hit him again, so hard Stiles nearly bit through the swollen lip he was biting. " _Theo!_ " he howled the name hoarsely when he was struck again, too fast, too hard. He sobbed raggedly, feeling desperate and broken. "Please, Theo ... I can't. I-it's too much, I c-can't take anymore." Just because he was saying what Theo wanted to hear, didn't mean it wasn't true.

"You can," Theo soothed, squeezing his neck encouragingly as he lowered the rod and struck Stiles several times across his already much too abused ass. "You can, Stiles, you can take it."  He rubbed Stiles' neck and shoulder gently as he drew more bleeding lines across his flesh. "You're doing really good."

Stiles had no idea what to make of the praise, or the confusing mix of sweetness and savagery. He trembled and cried in Theo's grip, just wanting it to end. "I c-can't. I-I c-c-c-an't, T-Theo, ple-please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease..." he was sobbing so hard he almost couldn't breathe, his words barely intelligible.

Theo hit him a few more times and then stopped, trailing the supple tip of the crop lightly through the blood trickling down Stiles' thigh.

"Shh, shhh," Theo murmured soothingly, nuzzling Stiles' heaving shoulder lightly. "You're okay. You'll be all right. Are you going to be good now, Stiles? Can we be done?"

Stiles nodded violently, not giving a damn what Theo wanted him to say or do if it meant the whipping would end. "Yes. Fuck, yes. I'll be good. I'll be good," he promised hoarsely.

"You sound pretty eager, Stiles. Are you ready to suck me, now?" Theo asked, still in that mild, reassuring tone like he was offering Stiles a treat rather than coercing him into a blow job.

Stiles hesitated only a moment before closing his eyes and bobbing his bowed head. "Yeah, sure, why not," he mumbled through hitching breaths. It really didn't seem to matter much in the grand scheme of things right now. It couldn't possibly be worse than continuing to be systematically flayed.

Theo moved away, leaving him cold and shivering and in so much pain. It seemed like far too much effort to lift his head, so Stiles didn't see what Theo did, but he must have manipulated the chains suspending him from the ceiling because the next thing Stiles knew the tension in his arms suddenly went slack. His legs hadn't actually been supporting him for a while, so he crashed painfully to his knees, kept only from face-planting into the floor by the fact that the chains were still too short to allow that. They no longer held his hands over his head, but weren't long enough to allow him to put his hands or arms on the ground to support himself. His body screaming pain, he struggled to find his balance. There was no way he had the strength to stand on his own, so he was trapped on his knees. He rocked back onto his heels, but the pain in his thighs and butt was unbelievable, forcing him quickly forward again. Gripping onto the chains on either side of him for support, Stiles clutched on with trembling hands, trying to maintain the tenuous, exhausting position of being on his knees without letting his butt touch his calves.

He didn't realize Theo was in front of him until his wavering forehead bumped into the other boy's crotch.

Theo crouched in front of him with a worried look on his face. "Sorry, didn't think you'd drop like that, are you okay?" He asked, cupping the side of Stiles' face tenderly in his hand.

Stiles wanted to turn his head and bite that hand. He wanted to spit at Theo. He wanted to tell the douche bag that _no,_ he was most fucking definitely _not_ okay.  He didn't. He was in much too much pain, and too afraid of what that defiance might earn him.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, gaze dropping to the floor, because that was a lie he had a lot of practice telling.

Theo didn't call him on it. Instead, he rose, giving Stiles' cheek a gentle, caressing pat. "Okay. Open up."

Stiles did. He closed his eyes and let his jaw go slack, wavering back and forth on his knees and feeling so faint from pain and the settling shock of his injuries that everything became a little hazy and disconnected. He heard Theo's zipper, then felt the press of firm, warm flesh sliding between his lips. He didn't fight it. He didn't open his eyes. He let Theo do what he wanted and tried to take it.

Theo murmured encouragements, holding his hair and trapping his head as he shoved his cock down his throat, making Stiles gag helplessly. Stiles wasn't really able to do much other than struggle not to throw up on the other boy and he couldn't help thinking that this had to be a fairly terrible blow job. Theo fortunately didn't seem to care, as long as he could hold Stiles' head still and fuck into him.

It hurt. Not as much as the whipping had, but it definitely hurt. Stiles was still crying and his nose was clogged; he couldn't breathe when Theo's dick was down his throat. He struggled desperately for air each time the werewolf pulled out enough to allow it, but the world quickly started going grainy yellow-black and his sense of reality distorted. He struggled to hold onto the chains and stay balanced on his knees, but his hands felt numb and his arms heavy. He flailed about a little, wavering drunkenly until Theo pushed him back, making him sit on his heels in a more stable, if much more excruciating position. 

Stiles gasped dizzily, crying out at the pain. Theo seemed to very much appreciate the way it felt when Stiles' throat constricted and vibrated around him as he attempted to scream. He grabbed Stiles' shoulder, using the leverage to push Stiles down roughly, grinding his injured flesh to make him keep screaming as he fucked hard into his mouth.

Thankfully, the stimulation pushed the werewolf over the edge pretty quickly and he climaxed, spilling himself down Stiles' throat and into his mouth.

Stiles collapsed forward when Theo pulled out and stepped away, gasping desperately for air with drool and cum dribbling down his chin as he retched and sobbed for oxygen. Everything was dim and only semi-real, like he'd entered some kind of numb, twilight state, only it wasn't really _numb_ because he was agonizingly aware of just how badly he hurt.

He must have blacked out, or at least grayed out for a while, because the next thing he was aware, the cuffs around his wrists were gone and he was in Theo's arms, being carried somewhere. He tried to move, not because he had any real thought of escape, but because Theo was carrying him bridal style and that made his injured back _scream._

Theo's arms tightened around him, holding him carefully. "Shh," he comforted. "It's okay. I've got you. Relax."

Relaxing was out of the question, but Stiles did go limp, head lolling against Theo's shoulder as reality drifted away from him again.

Stiles felt something cold and hard under him and found himself once more struggling back to consciousness to find himself lying face down on some kind of medical table that was draped with a sheet. Someone was standing over him and panic iced through his hurting, shocky body as he recalled what Theo had told him earlier about the Doctors.

_Oh God. Oh God they were going to operate on him. Experiment on him like the others, bury him in a hole, make him into some kind of doomed, nightmare freak._

He tried to thrash, but found that he couldn't move. Kanima venom, maybe, or some other paralytic, who knew? His breathing started to come too fast again, panic building explosively in his chest.

"Stiles, shh, shhh, no, it's all right." Theo's voice again, he was the person standing over beside the table. He placed a reassuring hand on Stiles' hurting shoulder, massaging comfortingly.

"No," Stiles sobbed softly, voice slurred and hopeless. "Don't ... don't want ... don't let them ..." Tears obscured his vision.

Theo leaned down in front of him, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "I won't," he promised softly. "I won't let them have you. I told the Doctors that you didn't survive the prep. They weren't happy, but honestly, they don't really care. You're just another body to them, and there's plenty others." Theo stroked the side of Stiles' face and combed light fingers through his wildly tangled hair. "Don't worry, I'm the one that gave you the paralytic."

Stiles blinked, afraid to believe what he was being told. Afraid Theo was just messing with him again. "Why?" he whispered raggedly.

"I need to treat your injuries, Stiles. Don't want you to scar ... well, not too much," he smiled almost tenderly. "Maybe just a little scarring, to remember. It won't look bad, I promise," he assured, as if that were Stiles' biggest concern at the moment.

Straightening up, Theo moved about, out of Stiles' view before returning, holding between a set of metal tongs a long, flimsy sheet of something semi-translucent and vaguely scaly that looked disturbingly like some type of _skin_. "I may not be at the Doctors' level," Theo said, "but I've learned a few tricks from them. I'll get you patched up, _without_ any monster side effects." He gave Stiles another one of those innocent looking, boyish smiles. "

Stiles blinked, not sure if he should feel hopeful, alarmed, or maybe all of the above. "But _why_?" he repeated, his head still feeling thick and slow and confused.

"Because if I gave you to the Doctors, they'd probably screw you up and then kill you," Theo told him. "Besides, I like you human. Now, I'm going to need you to be brave Stiles, okay? This will help you heal, but it's going to hurt, _a lot_ ," Theo warned.

He laid the strip of whatever it was across one of Stiles' cut up, welted shoulder blades and Stiles felt like he'd just dumped acid into the wounds. He screamed and would have rolled right off the table, except he couldn't move. He couldn't do anything but lie there, paralyzed, as Theo covered him from his neck to his knees in the painful, unusual dressings, or grafts or whatever the hell they were.

"I know, I know it hurts, It's okay Stiles, you're going to be all right, you can do this," Theo encouraged as he worked.

Stiles begged to differ, but he didn't really have a choice. Mercifully, he passed out again after a while.

When next he woke, he was just starting to regain sluggish, sloppy command of his limbs, but the fire on his back, butt and thighs was worse than ever. He felt like he was covered in magma, like it was actively burning into his body and he needed to get it _off._ He reached behind his back with clumsy hands, groping about to find the source of the pain. There was something weird there, something leathery and alien covering his skin that didn't seem to belong but clung as if adhered to him. He scratched at it desperately, but strong hands quickly caught his wrists and pulled his hands around in front of him.

It was only then that Stiles realized he wasn't on the table anymore. He was on a pile of blankets on the floor in a room he couldn't see very well. Theo was there, sitting beside him. Theo held his wrists firmly but gently, pulling Stiles onto his lap and into his arms, hugging him close to keep his struggling to a minimum.

"Leave it, Stiles, it's helping you. I know it doesn't feel like it, but it is. Let it do its thing, it'll come off when it's done," Theo told him.

"It hurts, it _hurts,_ " Stiles sobbed against his chest, too wrung out and in too much pain by now to care about anything else. It was too much, it felt like he was dying or losing his mind, like the unending pain was going to drive him insane.

"I know, I know, shhh, it's okay, I'll help," he promised.

Stiles thought it was just more empty words, but a minute later he realized the pain _was_ diminishing. Not disappearing, there was too much for that, but it was inexplicably dropping down to a tolerable level. Looking down in numb shock, he saw the black lines crawling up Theo's arms from where he held him. Theo was taking his pain, and Stiles had no idea why, or what to think anymore. He was beyond confused and so exhausted that it felt like he was made of lead.

He knew he wasn't safe here. He knew Theo was a motherfucking rat bastard dick... but Stiles was too tired for any of that to matter. Theo's embrace was warm and gentle, his touch leaching away some of the excruciating pain that Stiles honestly couldn't continue to bear on his own just now. Stiles had been hurt too badly. He needed the gentleness Theo offered, even if it was messed up or some kind of elaborate lie. Taking comfort where and when he could, Stiles relaxed hesitantly in Theo's embrace and let himself rest against him, listening to the steady heartbeat beneath his ear.

As Stiles stopped struggling, Theo freed one hand to gently stroke and caress Stiles’ hair and neck, his other staying carefully glued to Stiles’ arm, continuing to drain away his pain despite the cost it must surely be exacting. He murmured soft, soothing things to the other boy and Stiles started to feel a little like he was floating. It was so good not to hurt.

“Why didn’t you give me to the Doctors?” he finally asked in a hoarse, drowsy voice. It was only one of many questions whirling about in his foggy head, but it was the only one that seemed safe. “What does it matter to you if they killed me or not?”

"Because you're mine, now, Stiles," Theo said gently, like that should be painfully obvious. "And people don't get to take what's mine."

Stiles swallowed. "Oh."


	2. I gotta hurt you, I gotta hear it from your mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been absolutely amazed by the incredibly kind welcome this has received! You are all amazing, stupendous, and totally AWESOME people! Your reviews give me life! Thank you very much, I love each and every one of them more than diamonds and have re-read them a probably unhealthy amount of times. (*^▽^*)
> 
> I had intended to maybe just do one more chapter as a wrap-up, but thanks to all the overwhelming support (and the fact that I am a total slut for positive reinforcement) I've adapted a longer approach, so they'll be more chapters to come! 
> 
> Please pay attention to all the tags, they don't all apply to every chapter, but this is a dark story full of non-consensual punishment and sex, so please avoid if any of these themes could trigger you.

Stiles wasn't sure what it was that Theo had used to cover his injuries, but the treatment left him feverish, ill and delusional. He wasn't sure how long he drifted in and out of consciousness, or what was real and what was hallucination. He wandered through his life in fits and starts, the dream version darker and more unpredictable even than the real version. People walked in and out around him, speaking to one another but as unaware of him as if he were a ghost. _They_ were the ghosts, though. Some part of his addled mind knew they weren't real, manifesting itself by sprouting extra fingers on his hands when he checked them.

Theo was real, though. At some point, Stiles had been moved off the floor onto a mattress and sometimes he was aware of the werewolf beside him on the makeshift bed, placing cool cloths against his head, feeding him warm broth from a mug, holding a bowl for him when he threw up and rubbing his back soothingly. Stiles would have tried to throw up on _him_ just because, but he was too weak for spite, so he stored up all the scathing things he wanted to say and saved them for later, when he was stronger. He needed Theo right now, even if he didn't want to.

The first time Theo fucked him, Stiles was still dizzy and weak, just beginning to come out of his healing malaise. Theo had removed the bandages, alien skin grafts, or whatever the hell it was from his body, and the process had been painful. Not as bad as it had been going on, but bad enough to make Stiles bury his head in his arms and bite down on the blanket under him to endure it.

True to Theo's word, however, the treatment had left him almost fully healed from the vicious whipping the werewolf had administered. The skin across Stiles' back, butt and thighs was pink and tender when the wrappings peeled away, the freshly healed flesh highly sensitive and slightly painful when touched, like a sunburn.

Theo had remarked almost mournfully that it had worked very well and he didn't have any scars left after all. He'd smoothed some kind of gel or lotion across the tender areas and that had felt good. Then he'd slid his slicked fingers down between Stiles' ass cheeks and started prodding meaningfully at his hole and that had felt a lot less good.

Somewhere in the part of his mind that put things together, even when he'd rather it didn't, Stiles had known this was coming at some point. Theo wasn't taking care of him out of the goodness of his heart. Somehow, for some unfathomable reason, he'd taken an interest in Stiles and now seemed to consider him his possession, to do with as he pleased. Unfortunately, knowing it was coming didn't prepare him for the reality of it when it arrived. 

Stiles had tried to pull away, but he'd been weak as a newborn lamb. Any moderately-strengthed human could probably have overpowered him at that point. He'd had no chance against a werewolf. Theo had pinned him on his knees with his ass up and his head down, his hands trapped, crossed at the wrists behind his back.

Theo remonstrated with him for struggling, telling Stiles with bizarrely genuinely sounding concern that he was still mending and would hurt himself if he kept that up.  He slapped Stiles' spread, upturned ass with his free hand, spanking him until the already tender flesh was hot and pink and Stiles surrendered to the inevitable and stopped fighting him.

Theo's fingers had returned to Stiles' hole, and he'd pushed two slick digits inside without preamble. Stiles had groaned and bit down on the blanket again.  Theo seemed to consider a couple of quick jabs sufficient prep-work, because the fingers were quickly replaced with his dick. His hard cock was slick as it thrust mercilessly past Stiles' resisting muscles, but neither the prep nor the lubrication was anywhere near enough.

Stiles had screamed into the blankets, trying desperately to wriggle away from the penetration as Theo jacked his hips forward hard, forcing into him.  Theo had held him in place, bottoming out in a series of brutal thrusts until he was finally completely inside Stiles, their hips pressed intimately together.

" _Fuck,_ Stiles, you're so fucking _hot,_ " Theo had groaned, and Stiles, still feverish and now freshly spanked, suspected the other boy _wasn't_ speaking metaphorically.

Theo had ridden him hard and fast, fucking him into the mattress. It hurt tremendously. It felt like Theo was splitting him apart and for all Stiles knew, he was. Stiles had thrashed against the pain, but he'd really been too weak to do much but sob into the blankets and take it.

Near the end, Theo had reached around his stomach with his free hand and made a puzzled and displeased little growling sound when he encountered the completely limp and lifeless state of Stiles' dick. He'd tried to do something about it, tugging and pumping him, but Stiles was in much too much pain and distress to get aroused and the attempts had only hurt more.

Stiles had begged him to stop, trying to get him to understand that it wasn't going to happen before Theo jerked his dick right off his body from his over-intense attentions. Theo seemed disappointed by this, but already too lost down the rabbit hole of his own pleasure to give it too much mind.

He'd found release inside Stiles, jerking his hips and thrusting his cum deeply into his body as if trying to fill him up as full as he could. Stiles had been able to feel some of it trickling down the inside of his thighs, or maybe that had been blood, he wasn't sure.

Once he was spent, Theo had been in a decidedly contented and docile mood. He'd released Stiles' hands and let him curl onto his side on the blanket pile. The only thing he'd insisted on was staying joined with him, firmly pulling Stiles' hips back to him when he tried to move away and keeping Stiles plugged up and impaled on his slowly softening dick.

He'd plastered himself against Stiles' back, wrapping an arm around him and murmuring soothingly against his neck, gentling Stiles through the remainder of the semi-silent sobs that had wracked through him. He'd kissed the back of Stiles' shoulders tenderly and expressed regret that Stiles hadn't been able to cum too. He'd apologized even, and said not to worry, that he'd fix it. He make things better, he said, promising that next time, Stiles would like it.

Stiles didn't want there to _be_ a _next time,_ but that was clearly not something he had any say in. He was also not a fan of Theo's idea of making things better, because it turned out to consist of Theo dosing him with some sort of freaky supernatural aphrodisiac shit that made him desperately horny _all the fucking time_. The drugs also made it very hard for him to think. Either his thoughts would fly everywhere in a disjointed, debilitating whirl, or they would slow to a stupefied crawl and he'd end up staring at a crack in the ceiling for an hour, probably drooling softly, without even being aware that time was passing.

The part of his mind that was still trying to process information and understand things suspected that this was not actually a side effect, but rather an intentional symptom of whatever drug or drug cocktail Theo was injecting him with.  Theo was trying to keep him too debilitated to think about escaping. 

Stiles, however, was capable of at least _thinking_ about trying to escape even with half his brain tied behind his back. Or maybe it was just that he very desperately did not want to stay _here,_ wherever _here_ was. So he let Theo think he was still more ill and weak than he actually was. He acted like the drugs were stringing him out a little more than they actually were, and he tried desperately to get his meandering, sluggish mind to work for him.

He was in a room roughly the size of a really large bedroom. Underground, he assumed, due to the lack of windows, the cement walls and floor, and the fact that it just _felt_ like a basement. Some attempt had been made to make the area habitable, including the mattress and generous pile of blankets and pillows resting on the floor, shoved up against one wall. There was an old couch with a footstool, a battered wooden footlocker, and a mini-fridge against the opposite wall, and in one corner a small bathroom area which contained a toilet and bathtub / shower combo, but no sink and no walls to separate it from the rest of the room.

Basically, it was a cell.

Stiles tried to listen to the wall, to see if he could hear any sounds from outside, or distinctive water flow, or distant machinery, or anything that would give him a clue about _where_ this room was and in what kind of building, but he heard nothing useful and ended up simply laying with his head against the cool cement wall, watching a spider busily engaged in wrapping up a struggling fly caught in its web for what was probably an obscene amount of time.

He was roused from the stupor he hadn't realized he'd fallen into by the throbbing ache between his legs. He fisted his unwanted and totally unwarranted erection in an effort to relieve it, and ended up desperately humping the mattress until he came, for the second time since he woke up. _Had he mentioned that whatever Theo had given him was making him unbearably horny?!_

Interestingly, the rush of pleasure endorphins and adrenaline when he orgasmed seem to clear his head a little. With a groan, Stiles rolled off the mattress and forced himself shakily to his feet. He had to clutch the wall for support. He had no idea what day it was or how much time had passed.

He winced, curling forward at the burning throb that the motion ignited inside his sore body from Theo's vicious fucking the other night. Well... he _assumed_ it was the other night, but time was a funny thing. Maybe it had been longer than that, because he'd felt like he hadn't wanted to ever move again, let along walk, when Theo had been done with him, but he was able to move and only sore, now. He was also relatively clean, meaning Theo must have cleaned him up at some point, but Stiles had absolutely no memory of that, which was disturbing to say the least.

The biggest impediment to Stiles' progress turned out to be his weakened and drugged state and the fact that how long he'd been immobile had reduced his limbs to the strength and load baring capacity of wet noodles.

Theo wasn't there, Stiles noted with the deductive speed of a turnip. If Stiles' vague recollections could be trusted, he was away often, doing whatever sneaky rat bastard things a sneaky rat bastard did, probably continuing to screw with and endanger Stiles' friends, who didn't know that he _was_ a sneaky rat bastard. The thought, and the anger and worry that went with it, gave Stiles a little burst of extra adrenaline and he managed to stumble across the room.

He was still naked. _Astounding observational skill exhibit number two._ He looked around, but there was no sign of clothing in the room and the only place that might contain something like that, the footlocker, was secured by a combination lock. Stiles was too unsteady to bother trying to wrap up in a blanket. He was more than willing to run naked through downtown Beacon Hills if it got him away from here, to be honest.

Stiles blinked, struggling to focus, to remember what he was doing and why. It was _so hard_ to hang onto a train of thought for more than five seconds. _Survey the room. Find an escape route._ He told himself firmly. Surveying the room ended up being comprised of him standing by the wall by the sofa and looking around. It looked remarkably the same as it had from the other side of the room. His mind sputtered, like it was trying to make connections, but he just couldn't. It was frustrating beyond belief, but it would take more energy than he had to feel too upset about it.

Stiles' fingers trembled slightly as he ran them through his sweat damp hair. He'd not had anything to eat more substantial than broth since he'd been brought here. Maybe he should check to see if there was anything in that fridge, but honestly he couldn't stand to think of food just at the moment, and he really wanted to keep his attention focused on escape.

The room had only one door. Stiles tried it, just to be thorough. He completely expected it to be locked. It wasn't. For a moment he gaped in shock at the dark, open doorway in front of him, before instinct drove him to hurry through it towards the tantalizing hope of freedom. The door opened out to a steep, unlit staircase that had another door at the top, only just visible in the heavy gloom.

Even if Theo had thought him still incapacitated, it didn't really make sense for the door to be unlocked. If Stiles' head had been clearer and his desperation to get away from Theo a little less urgent, he would have realized that. As it was, Stiles was almost to the top of the stairs before something in his gut started trying to prickle a warning to him. The long stairway was murder in his weakened condition, and he was shaking badly by then from pain and fatigue, clutching the wall for support and breathing like an asthmatic.

He knew. He _knew_ there was something wrong, but he didn't put it together in time. He wasn't able to tamp down his flight reflex, or separate the unease in his chest from the rest of his fear before it was too late. So he opened the door at the top of the stairs and stumbled out into a small, well-lit room, only to find Theo sitting there calmly in a chair by the wall, nursing a beer and watching the door like he'd been waiting for Stiles to show up.

Which, Stiles realized with a gut-churning sinking sensation, was exactly what he _had_ been doing. This was a trap and he'd walked right into it, just like the hapless fly he'd been watching earlier.

Theo set his bottle down, something cold and hard in his eyes. "Well, look who's suddenly feeling a lot better. Going somewhere, Stiles?"

"Oh, you know, places to be, psychopaths to flee, just the usual," Stiles quipped back, his suddenly dry mouth moving on autopilot. His heart was hammering, making his already dizzy head spin crazily. The sudden jolt of fright and despair on top of his recent exertion caught up with Stiles all at once and his knees unexpectedly buckled.

With werewolf speed, Theo caught him before he could hit the ground or fall backwards down the stairs. Shaking his head, Theo tossed Stiles over his shoulder and carried him back down the stairs.

Stiles clutched at the back of Theo's shirt, the rush of blood to his already spinning head making spots and flashes dance blindingly before his eyes in the dark stairwell. "Ow, ow, dude, unless you want to be wearing whatever I've got left in my stomach, put me down," he protested, a few wriggles telling him he wasn't going anywhere Theo didn't want him to.

"Don't you think you're in enough trouble, Stiles?" Theo warned, pushing through the door at the bottom of the stairs and slamming it shut behind them.

Stiles' struggling mind didn't read the rhetorical nature of the question. "No! Wait... I mean yes? I mean, that's not fair," he mumbled against Theo's back. "You set me up. You wanted to see what I'd do."

"I wanted to see if I could _trust_ you." Theo dumped Stiles onto the couch.  

"Right. Well, newsflash, raping and beating the hell out of people is not a great way to inspire trust or a warm, fuzzy desire to hang around for more," Stiles shot back, burrowing his back into the corner of the couch and pulling up his knees. "I don't know what kind of sick fantasy you're living in, but you can trust _me_ about as much as I can trust _you_."

Theo paused, fixing Stiles with a still pissed, but intent look. "That's the problem, Stiles. You _can_ trust me; you just refuse to see that. I've saved your life at least twice, _and_ I saved you from the doctors. I healed you and nursed you the whole time you were sick. I've spent _hours_ taking your pain. I thought maybe you'd start understand by now." Theo reached over and cupped Stiles' cheek. "I'd be so good to you, if you'd let me."

Stiles flinched and jerked his head away.

Theo sighed. "But I guess you're not ready to do that, yet. You obviously need more ... _instruction_."

Stiles felt himself go cold all over at that, except his unhelpful dick that was kind of going _yes_ for no identifiable reason at all except that it was high and stupid.

"It's all right. I suppose it _was_ too much to hope for so soon," Theo said, crouching down to undo the combination lock on the footlocker. He withdrew a heavy wooden paddle.

Stiles caught sight of an assortment of other things in the box which made his heart thump and his cheeks redden. _Holy hell, this could **not** be for real... _

"What the hell is that, like, your super freaky sex chest or something?" he blurted nervously. He eyed the door, but Theo was in his way and he knew he'd never make it. Suddenly, he realized he should be worried, _very_ worried about the paddle Theo was holding in his hand as he straightened up. "Whoa, whoa, wait, back up a step dude and keep that freaky ass thing away from me. I _so_ did not sign up for this!"

Theo fixed Stiles with the look of someone who is vaguely annoyed but attempting patience. "Stiles, Stiles ... I know this is an adjustment for you, but I'll help you through it. I care about you, Stiles. I want you to be safe and happy. I will take care of you, I promise, but you need to understand that you're mine now," Theo explained. "If I have to punish you until you understand that and learn to be good, then I will. Carrot and stick, it's the only way some people learn."  He smacked the paddle into his palm.

Stiles flinched at the sound and drew into a tighter ball, eyes wide and incredulous. He'd known Theo was a sick puppy, but this was getting so bizarre he almost could have laughed ... if he wasn't so sick with apprehension.

Theo froze, a funny look crossing his face as if he'd just noticed something. He paused, glancing towards the mattress across the room and sniffing. He turned back to Stiles with a wry, accusatory smile. "Well, someone's been having a little fun by themselves, huh?" He shook his head. "Guess we're going to have to deal with that too. Your pleasure and everything else belongs to me, Stiles. You don't get to touch yourself unless I say."

Theo sat down on the opposite end of the couch and patted his lap. "Okay, come on, over my lap."

Stiles looked at him like he was insane, because, honestly, Stiles really thought he must be _._ "Are you out of your fucking mind? Hell no! You are _psychotic_ , dude! And you're a freaking imbecile if you think I'm going to go along with this weird, twisted fantasy of yours. I do not belong to _you_ or anybody else! So you can take your _fucking_ paddle and your _fucking_ rules and shove it up your - " Stiles' angry rush of words was cut off with a yelp when Theo pounced on him, grabbing him by the arm and forcefully dragging him over his lap.

Stiles kicked and struggled, but Theo twisted his left arm behind him, securing it at the small of his back to hold him in place. Stiles was still only at partial strength, but his continued attempts to kick or throw himself sideways forced Theo to trap the other boy's flailing legs with his own, keeping Stiles bent over one thigh while he clamped the other down over his knees, forcing Stiles' head towards the floor and tilting his butt awkwardly up in the air. 

Theo brought the paddle down _hard._ Stiles yelped and jerked, clawing at the floor and Theo's pants leg with his free hand, spots dancing before his eyes again because of the uncomfortable and inverted angle. Theo didn't ease him into the spanking; he laid down blow after blow with punishing speed and force, fully intent upon paddling the struggling boy into submission.

"First thing you need to learn: Don't. Ever. Fight. Me." Theo warned, punctuating each word with a brutal slap of the heavy, stinging paddle against Stiles' already sore behind. "You will lose and it will _hurt._ If I tell you you've earned a punishment, then you ask me how I want you and present yourself for it as instructed. Resist and I will literally double whatever you were already getting and then some. You were already getting a lot, Stiles. You have no idea how much this is going to hurt now."

Stiles though maybe he did. It was already hurting a whole hell of a lot, and they were apparently only getting started. He swore and cursed virulently, sobbing in anger as much as pain, hitting and scratching at Theo's leg until he was finally forced to press his hand against the floor for support in order to take a little pressure off his crushed diaphragm and aching, air-deprived lungs.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ His ass was on _fire,_ and Theo showed no signs of stopping or even slowing down. It was all so unbelievably humiliating and stupid and of all the things he'd imagined Theo might have planned for him, including evisceration and decapitation, this was totally not one of them. Maybe he should have tumbled to Theo's proclivities sooner, based on their previous interactions, but apparently his mind hadn't been working under enough steam, or maybe it had just seemed too unlikely. The thought of Theo spanking him like some kind of naughty child would have been ridiculous, if it didn't hurt so damn much.

"You know I'm using a paddle for your sake, right?" Theo asked, continuing to rain blows down on his swiftly reddening rear. "I would much rather use something stronger, like a whip, or even my claws... something that draws _blood,_ but you don't heal like I'm used to, so I'm trying to adjust for you. I spent a lot of time researching instructional tools that won't damage you as bad as last time."

" _W-wow._ S-so thoughtful of-of you. What do you w-want me to do, s-say _thanks?_ " Stiles growled out through pained gasps and whimpers. 

"No, you're not ready for that yet. For now, it's enough that you know, and that you learn to follow the rules. Everything comes in time," Theo answered lightly but with complete seriousness. "So, rule number one: no fighting. That means no resisting punishment, and no constantly trying to get away when we have sex. If you think you've got that, I'll move you to a more comfortable position, but start acting up again and you'll regret it. I mean it, Stiles," Theo warned darkly, punctuating the words with a particularly vicious slap of the paddle against Stiles' already deeply flushing butt.

Stiles said nothing besides yelping through gritted teeth, which Theo apparently decided to take as ascent. He paused and untangled their legs, hauling Stiles up and shifting him so he was draped more easily across Theo's lap, his upper body and legs now supported on the couch. The position did indeed make it a lot easier to breathe and made Stiles feel less like his head was exploding, but it also exposed a lot more of his butt and thighs to the paddle.

Theo took immediate advantage of this, working his way down Stiles' legs as if on a mission to make the lower part of his butt and his thighs match the color he'd already brought out higher up. Stiles' fingers dug into the couch and he pressed his face into the weave to muffle his cries, astounded that it managed to hurt and sting even worse on his thighs than on his butt.

Aside from a certain amount of pained squirming he couldn't help, Stiles tried to be still and take it. He was angry, but not stupid, there was no point making Theo hurt him worse than he already intended to. _Please be almost over, please be almost over..._

"That's better," Theo approved after a few agonizing minutes of silent whacking during which Stiles did no more than cry and gasp his mounting pain into the couch cushions with increasing desperation. "You're not going to fight me again, are you, Stiles?"

Stiles bit down on the things he _wanted_ to say about that. His ass and thighs were a dark, angry red, the pain so fiery it felt like the paddle was red-hot each time it touched him. Despite how it occasionally seemed, he did have _some_ slight sense of self preservation, so he did not in fact tell Theo to go fuck himself with a mountain ash dildo.

" _Are_ you?" Theo demanded, stopping the slow, random pattern he'd been working with the paddle and focusing painfully on Stiles' right sit-spot until he got an answer.

"Ow-ow- _ow_ ww," Stiles half screamed into the couch, hips squirming against Theo's thigh in agony.  "No! Okay? No, I won't. I got it. Lesson learned, you can stop now, seriously, you can stop!"

Theo had the gall to chuckle affectionately, like Stiles was being cutely amusing, thinking they were anywhere near done. "That was rule _one,_ Stiles. We've got a few others to get through, but I want to make sure you really understand and aren't just saying whatever to try and get this over with. So, from now on, when I tell you you're going to be punished, what are you going to do?" he quizzed, moving over to subject Stiles' left sit-spot to the same repeated series of punishing whacks.

Stiles jiggled his foot madly against the couch, screwing his eyes shut against the hurt. "Ah- _ah-ah!_ " he cried out against the staccato of blistering pain. "I'm – I'm going to obey and b-be good," he mumbled miserably, his face burning almost, but not quite as brightly as his ass.  

" _And?"_ Theo prompted.

Stiles' reeling mind drew a disturbing, panic-inducing blank. He wasn't sure what Theo was looking for, what part of the answer he'd missed. "And? I'm... I'm going to... um..."

Theo seemed to read Stiles' genuine panic at not being sure of the answer and took pity on him. "You're going to ask me how I want you," he told him.

"O-oh, ye-yeah, okay, that," Stiles agreed, about ready to enthusiastically agree to anything by now if it would end the punishment quicker. It was depressingly disturbing how swiftly he seemed to slide into this pattern of appeasement every time Theo hurt him enough, but he wasn't sure what alternative there was. This wasn't a movie. You didn't get extra points for being stoic and defiant under torture. You just got more hurt. It didn't seem worth it. After all, it wasn't as if he _meant_ a word of it anyway.

"Say it, Stiles. What are you going to ask me when I tell you you've earned a punishment?" Theo prompted sternly, like a teacher making him recite math tables.

Stiles swallowed. "H-how – how do you want me?" he mumbled out between sobs and spanks.

"Yes, good," Theo praised, his voice softening and the blows lightening and slowing just a little. "And then you do what I tell you, and you thank me when it's done. It's for your own good, Stiles."

That was complete bullshit, but Stiles went with it. "Y-yeah, okay. Okay, Theo. I-I get it." Stiles could feel Theo's erection against his side, through his jeans. Obviously, he was getting off on this. It was undoubtedly twisted, but a little part of Stiles kind of hoped he'd get excited enough that he'd leave off punishing and switch to fucking instead, because at least the length of that pain was something finite, limited to however long it took Theo to climax, unlike the current pain where Stiles had no idea when it would ever be over. Plus, his dick was like, rock hard where it lay trapped against Theo's thigh, which was unimaginably _weird_ given how badly he was hurting and how very much he didn't want _any_ of what was happening, but there you go, his dick was apparently a shitty little masochist when it was high.

"Okay, rule number two," Theo started, and Stiles groaned, half squirming in pain and half shamelessly humping his thigh.

" _Dude..._ h-how many rules are - are there?" he whined, unable to stop himself. "M-my ass is on f-fucking _fire._ "

Theo laughed. He paused the spanking long enough to rub Stiles' flaming ass with his hand. His fingers felt unimaginably cool and soothing against the heated flesh, even though the contact hurt, and Stiles pushed back into his touch with a little groan without having actually meant to do any such thing.

"It is pretty hot," Theo agreed, a different kind of heat lacing his tone. "And _so_ red, but I'm afraid we're not done yet, Stiles. It's okay, babe," he patted Stiles' abused backside consolingly. "Only two more, all right? Only two more rules for today."

Stiles gave a soft sob into the couch as Theo picked up the paddle and started in on him again. _Fuck, but it fucking hurt._ It wasn't the same type of soul stealing agony as the first whipping had been, for one thing, despite the seemingly endless pain, it wasn't nearly as damaging, but it was definitely a special kind of hell all its own.

"Rule number two," Theo repeated. "This one's pretty easy: no trying to leave. I know it's going to be a big temptation, so I'll make it as easy as I can for you to obey by making it difficult for you to get yourself into too much trouble on this one for a while. The door's going to be locked from now on and this room is pretty secure. I'll make sure you have plenty of food and water and everything you need, so don't worry," he promised. "I'm sure it will be monotonous for you at first, but it's not forever. Once I know I can trust you, then I can give you a lot more freedom. As you've yet to learn today, I'm afraid, trying to run is really serious and earns a super painful punishment. I don't want to have to do that to you, so until I can trust you, I have to protect you from yourself, babe. Understand?"

 _I understand you're way more delusional than I ever dreamed and if you don't kill me first, I'm going to strangle you in your sleep one day, yes._ Stiles wisely only said the last part of his thought. "Y-yes," he choked out.

"Rule number three," Theo repeated, still spanking away as he lectured. "You belong to me. This means you get pleasure and pain when _I_ want you to. So, no touching yourself or getting off without permission, got it? You prove unable to obey on that, and I might have to start caging you," he warned.

Proving Stiles had not been nearly as adventurous in his porn watching as he'd imagined, he thought at the time that Theo was talking about putting him in, like, a dog cage or something, which didn't _entirely_ make sense in context, but certainly sounded very unpleasant. In his defense, his brain was still drug-addled soup, his dick was clamoring unceasingly and his ass was currently channeling the heat from every sun in the galaxy, so he was a little distracted.

"O-okay," he sobbed. "Okay."

Theo left off paddling again, laying it across the small of Stiles' back, next to his trapped arm. He shifted, spreading his legs so that Stiles' erection slid off his thigh and bobbed free between them. Sliding his hand beneath Stiles, he gripped his stiff, aching length and stroked it slowly.

Stiles gasped involuntarily at the sudden, electric jolt of pleasure. He groaned and whimpered, thrusting into Theo's hand in a series of helpless little jerks that he couldn't restrain. He was _so fucking hard_ and it just wouldn't _go away._ His battered ass muscles clenched at the motion, the pain and the raw heat heightening the pleasure in some bizarre way.

Theo let Stiles hump his fist, stroking and caressing his fevered length. "See? Your body knows. It knows you belong to me. That _this,_ " he squeezed Stiles' cock, making it twitch and dance in his hand and making Stiles gasp in pained ecstasy. "Belongs to me. I will make you feel _so_ good, Stiles," he murmured, his thumb working against Stiles' slit and making him muffle a completely different kind of outcry into the couch cushion. "You'll never want to leave."

Stiles was unimaginably close to coming like that, right there over Theo's knees. Theo brought him right to the edge and then suddenly let go. Stiles whined at the loss, his hips squirming as Theo left him dangling with no way to get the little bit of stimulation needed to push him over the brink. He was so focused on his desperate need to finish, that he didn't register Theo picking the paddle back up until the crack of fire shot through his throbbing backside again. He howled, caught balanced between sensations of pleasure and pain that suddenly blended into one confused, overwrought knot of indescribable and overwhelming sensation.

Theo spanked him slow and deliberate now, Stiles yowling into the couch like a wounded animal at every blow. Each strike sending such a pure thread of pain through him that it almost, _almost_ was enough to tip him over the teetering edge of pleasure on which he balanced, but it wasn't _quite_ enough, and it left him desperate and reeling. "Theo!" he begged without meaning to. " _Theo!_ "

Theo was breathing quicker, aroused by Stiles' arousal as much as by his pain. Stiles' ass was beautifully abused, it looked so angry and painful that he couldn't help wanting to just hit it over and over, making the other teen keen and cry and howl helplessly over his lap.

"You're mine, Stiles," Theo murmured, his voice gone husky and breathless, dipping almost to a possessive growl. "Mine."

"Yes, y-yes, okay? I'm yours, Theo, _fuuuck,_ I'm yours!" Stiles pleaded. "All yours."

" _Fuck_ , Stiles ... _fuck._ I'm going to fuck the _hell_ out of you when your punishment's over," Theo groaned, like it was a promise, not a threat. At the moment, that was how Stiles' overly worked up and helplessly aroused body took it, too. "Gonna spread your hot, throbbing ass and open you up with my dick, and you're gonna cum for me, just from being fucked, over and over until you've got nothing fucking left to give," Theo growled, and there was no mistaking the lisp caused by elongated teeth. He was so worked up he'd started to shift. "I'm going to fucking _knot_ you, Stiles."

Stiles had no idea whether that was an actual possible thing, or just werewolf dirty talk, but it didn't matter because Theo was paddling him unbearably hard and his dark, promising words which should have caused nothing but fear were instead going straight to his aching, needy dick and making his head and body swim with so much arousal he could barely breathe. "Oh fuck, oh _fuck!_ " he screamed, feeling like he was hanging on the edge of a cliff. "Fuck, Theo," he garbled, not even faking it this time. "Theo, _Theo, please!"_  He had no concept of whether he was begging for the spanking to end, or begging for Theo to fuck him. If he were brutally honest with himself, at this moment in time, probably both.

"When I tell you I'm going to fuck you, Stiles, what are you going to ask me?" Theo half growled, half purred.

For a moment, Stiles had no idea what Theo was asking, even though he obviously expected an answer. Some part of his overloaded mind triggered an association, linking this question with a previous one with an answer that could apply to either.

"How do-do you want me?" he rasped out.


	3. Baby, I wanna fuck you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, tried to do a better job of making it clear when we're switching perspective between Stiles and Theo this time. Mostly Stiles POV, but Theo butted in and wanted to be included too and I couldn't resist him. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Thank you all for the reviews! There will be a little more plot creeping in next chapter.

Theo gave Stiles one last whack and dropped the paddle. He was very pleased that Stiles had come to the right answer on his own. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, Stiles. Good. So good. You did so good, babe," he praised huskily, running his hand hungrily over Stiles' raw, swollen flesh. 

Stiles' butt and thighs were a deep, angry red that darkened to an agonizing shade of deeper purple bruising across his sit-spots and the tops of his thighs. He was going to be feeling this for _days,_ maybe even all _week,_ and the thought excited Theo immeasurably _._ Stiles was _made_ to bear his marks, to feel his claim every waking moment of the day.

Stiles cried for a few minutes and Theo allowed him the time to catch his breath and gather himself. He stroked and caressed the shuddering boy soothingly, intimately learning every line and curve of his back and reveling in the sheer, wounded heat radiating from him.

"Stiles, sit up," Theo finally urged, pulling Stiles upright and making him straddle his legs. Stiles winced, curling forward in pain when his abused butt settled against Theo's thighs.

" _Fuck_ , that hurts," he mumbled. His eyes were tear-wet and glistening, his breath still hitching, although he'd mostly stopped crying. Tears were a good look on him.

"It looks like it," Theo said with a teasing grin. He leaned in and captured Stiles' lips in a soft, open-mouthed kiss.

+++++

Stiles froze awkwardly when Theo's mouth found his, unprepared for this unexpected intimacy.

Theo curled a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in, kissing him possessively, but tenderly.

Stiles gave into it without much resistance, tongue hesitantly darting to entwine with Theo's and feeling the unwanted, but undeniable thrill of the contact shiver down his spine.

After a minute Theo withdrew. He stroked Stiles' cheek lightly. "How you doing, babe?" he queried, as if he actually cared. "Ready to finish up your punishment so we can move on to the stuff you're gonna like more?" 

Stiles' body stiffened in Theo's arms, the idea that they weren't _done_ hitting him like a sucker punch in the gut. "W-what?" he asked, tears welling unwanted but unstoppable in his eyes. "N-no, Theo... no more," he begged, grabbing the front of the werewolf's shirt in his fists and struggling desperately not to break down crying. He'd thought it was over. He really needed it to be over.

"Shh," Theo wiped away the tears leaking from his red rimmed eyes. "I'm sorry, Stiles, but you _ran_ and you _fought me._ Not just a little either, you were really bad, making me hold you down to paddle you, not submitting until I forced you to." He caressed Stiles' cheek. "I can't just let that go. You need to understand how serious this is."

"I _do,_ " Stiles insisted desperately. "Theo, I really do, I _swear._ I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry..."

Theo kissed him lightly, shutting him up. "No, you don't, or you wouldn't be so close to arguing with me again right now, would you?" he pointed out, a sliver of something hard darting behind his otherwise gentle gaze.

"I..." Stiles trailed off, realizing the hopeless web in which he was caught, where protesting and begging was only likely to earn him further reprimand. He pressed his eyes shut, a muffled shudder running through his body. _No more, no more, no more..._ he begged silently instead, tears slipping down his cheeks again.

Theo kissed his closed eyelids lightly, making Stiles start and blink them back open.

"I know," Theo murmured consolingly. "This is hard, but I told you I was going to have to be really severe with you, Stiles. I asked you not to make me do this, and maybe, if this hurts _enough,_ you won't make me do it again."

Stiles could only bow his head and try not to sob. He was fucked. All he could try to do was not make it worse. "How..." he gasped out, his throat momentarily closing around the words. "How do you want me?" he whispered.

Theo beamed at him adoringly. Clearly, he'd won serious brownie points for remembering his lines without being prompted, for all good that did him. This was still going to suck major ass. Theo kissed him again, lightly this time. "I knew you'd learn fast. You were always so smart, Stiles, even when we were kids."

Theo rose, pulling Stiles with him. Stiles winced, wavering on his feet. He felt faint from pain, adrenaline, drugs, arousal and fear and his muscles protested every motion. His ass felt bruised to the bone. He grabbed onto Theo's shirt again for balance and Theo caught his arms, steadying him, letting Stiles rest against his body until he could stay upright on his own. Stiles had started trembling.

Theo left him for a moment and returned with a plastic water bottle from the small fridge. He twisted off the cap and offered it to Stiles. "I'm going to want you bent over the arm of the couch, but drink something first, babe," he murmured. "It'll help, okay? You're shaking."

Stiles accepted the water bottle, realizing all at once how desperately thirsty he actually was. His hands were shaking so much he couldn't hold it steady. Theo put one hand over his, steadying the bottle so he could drink. The cold water was delicious and soothing. He tried to gulp it, but Theo made him take it slow so he wouldn't get brain freeze. He pressed the cold bottle to his flushed, tear-raw cheeks between sips and that also felt really good. _If only he could press it against his ass..._

As if reading his mind, Theo gave him a little nudge and a smile. "I'll ice your butt for you when we're all done," he promised indulgently. Stiles choked a little on the water.

Theo was surprisingly patient, waiting for Stiles to finish the water and only starting to tip the bottle a little more firmly to get him to finish the remainder when it became clear towards the end that Stiles was starting to dawdle intentionally.

Theo finally set the empty bottle aside. "Better?" he asked.

Stiles gave a small nod. It was actually the truth, although _better_ was a very far cry from _good._ Still, the water had been refreshing and eased his shakes a little, at least for the moment. Or maybe Theo's unexpected gentleness had done that. "Thanks," he mumbled, feeling sure that if he didn't acknowledge Theo's "niceness" he could turn ugly again pretty quick.

"Good," Theo murmured approvingly. "Okay then. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to deal with you touching yourself first, then with you trying to run away. Because you fought me, you're going to have to deal with taking both punishments on an ass that's already black and blue sore, and that's not going to be fun," he warned, as if Stiles weren't perfectly capable of doing that math for himself. "From now on, if you fight me, I'll double all the following punishment too, but I think you're trying to be good, babe, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and go easy on you this time. I'm going to go easy on you for touching yourself too," he promised, "because you didn't know the rules. If you do it again, though, it will be a _lot_ worse, understood?"

Stiles bobbed his head obediently, wavering slightly on his feet and trying not to throw up the water he'd just ingested. His butt stung madly and his still very erect dick ached, but he was pretty sure touching either one was going to get him in a world of trouble, so he bunched his fists at his sides, torn between wanting Theo to hurry the hell up, and wanting him to keep talking forever if it delayed whatever new pain was coming his way.

"Okay, I'm going use a strap on you for touching yourself. Go get me one out of the trunk," Theo ordered.

Biting his lower lip, facing burning, Stiles shuffled painfully over to Theo's twisted toy chest. Crouching or bending down to reach the lid proved to be _way_ more difficult than expected, his abused muscles seizing and throbbing, but he managed it somehow. The assortment of punishment, bondage and sex toys inside the trunk made Stiles shiver with a mixture of arousal and horror. Did Theo really intend to use all of these at some point? On _him_? _Fuck._

Not really sure what he was looking for, Stiles grabbed a thick leather strap at random out of the trunk and pushed back to his feet. Limping back to Theo, he refused the urge to study his toes as he handed the implement over. Instead he met Theo's gaze squarely, a flicker of stubbornness, if not defiance, on his face. "This do?"

Theo doubled the strap in his palm and gave it a test swish. He nodded. "Yeah. Bend over the arm of the couch."

Stiles obeyed stiffly and as slowly as he dared. Theo maneuvered and rearranged him a little until Stiles was exactly how he wanted him, bent over the arm of the sofa with his hands and elbows on the cushion, his stomach resting on the arm, his legs spread and his already well punished ass up in the air at an easy swing height.

Theo rubbed Stiles' ass a little more, as if unable to resist touching it when it was presented like this. "What's this punishment for, Stiles?" he asked.

"Touching myself without permission," Stiles mumbled into the couch.

"Yes. I think I'm going to give you twenty," Theo informed. "Count them aloud for me. Don't screw up or we have to start over."

It was all Stiles could do not to claw his way up over the couch arm in an effort to escape when the first searing kiss of the strap connected with his already burning ass. Only the threat of worse pain kept him struggling to hold position. He barely managed to stutter out "One," before Theo was laying the next stroke down.

It was worse than he could have imagined. Stiles was shaking and sobbing again by five and screaming unstoppably by twelve. Only sheer desperation kept him shouting or gasping out something that sounded like a number after each hit. In all honesty, Theo wasn't striking him nearly as hard as he might have. He wasn't going after Stiles with werewolf strength this time, or even full human strength, keeping true to his word about taking it easy on him. Stiles was already so sore, however, that it couldn't help hurting like blazes anyway.

+++++

After twenty, Theo stopped to admire his handiwork, caressing and rubbing the upraised latticework of welts he'd added to Stiles' heated skin. _Beautiful._ Stiles' pale, freckled skin was a perfect canvas; it showed every mark he took to best effect.  Theo had played with this kind of thing before, but not with this level of freedom. Clubs had so many rules, you couldn't _really_ do what you wanted, and to be honest, he wasn't all that interested in random strangers. _This_ was far superior in every way. 

Stiles was sobbing helplessly over the arm of the couch, but Theo was getting too impatient to coddle him along much more at this point. By now he wanted to be inside Stiles so much it practically hurt. However, discipline was important, and this needed to be finished. Stiles wasn't a simple plaything to use and discard. Theo intended to keep him more long-term if his plans went well, which meant he needed to do this right and not half-ass it because he was in a hurry. He had a feeling Stiles would be worth the effort.

He pressed a consoling touch between Stiles' shoulder blades, trying to be sympathetic despite how little he felt like it right now. Stiles really was trying very hard and Theo didn't want him to think that he didn't notice and appreciate that. Positive reinforcement was as important as punishment if he wanted Stiles to learn to be good.  

Theo wasn't stupid or delusional. He knew the human would not cooperate easily. Oh, Stiles might talk a good game and play the angles, but it was going to take a lot of time and intense, repetitive work to truly grind him down until his obedience became something other than mere, calculating lip service. Stiles was like a rough hewn gemstone that needed its dull, jagged exterior stripped away, needed to be cut and sliced and polished until its true beauty could shine.

"Okay, Stiles, almost done now." Theo pulled him upright and Stiles wavered unsteadily, still crying. "We just have trying to run away left to deal with. I'm afraid I can't go easy on you on this one, because I don't want you to think it's _ever_ okay, but I will take into account how sore you already are and adjust for that, okay?" He tried to be generous ... and to hurry things along.

Stiles just continued crying, which was a little annoying.

"I'm going to give you thirty with a cane, and trust me, you're not going to want to repeat this particular lesson again anytime soon," Theo informed a trifle more brusquely.

Stiles practically crumpled into him, sobbing. "I-I can't... please, Theo, _please,_ I'm n-not trying to be b-bad, I-I just c-can't," he pleaded. His knees wobbled, threatening to buckle and Theo wrapped his arms more tightly around the shaking body, hugging Stiles to his chest and letting him sob into his shirt.

Theo sighed, rubbing Stiles' back gently. He should not give into him. He really, _really_ should not. He didn't want Stiles to get the idea that he could use his pretty, teary eyes and beautiful begging to get his way, because Stiles was much too smart and if you gave him an inch he would take a mile. _But,_ he also wanted Stiles to know that he had a gentler side too, that he could be merciful as well as strict ... and he really, _really_ wanted to hurry up and get himself balls deep in that amazingly punished ass.

"Okay, Stiles, okay," he murmured, kissing his damp hair. "You've been doing so good. For you, just this once, I'll make it only ten, babe. You can do ten," he soothed.

Stiles sobbed, hiccupping against his chest. If he continued to protest or tried to wheedle lower, Theo would have to kick him up to forty instead, just on principle, and fuck, that could take _forever_ , but fortunately for them both, Stiles was smart and did not spurn his generosity.

"O-okay," Stiles hiccupped in a small voice. He didn't say thank you, but he pressed a very light, hesitant and tearful kiss against Theo's collarbone that spoke just as eloquently. "How do you want me?" he whispered against Theo's neck, body still shaking, but the husky quality of his voice lent a possibly unintentional double-entendre to the question. Then again, given the way Stiles' dick was digging into his hip, maybe it _was_ intentional.

 _Fuck, Stiles was **perfect.**_ Theo shuddered softly, dragging in a deep breath of the human's scent, resplendent with pain, arousal, desperation and most intoxicating of all, _submission._ Stiles submitted to no one, but here he was submitting to _him_ and it was lovely. It spoke to his werewolf nature on a primal level.

"Back over the couch arm," Theo murmured, helping guide Stiles back into position. He moved him further forward this time, placing him so his hips were over the padded arm and his toes barely touched the floor. Theo retrieved a cane from the trunk himself.

"I'll count this time, Stiles." He caught hold of Stiles hands and crossed them behind his back, holding his wrists with one hand. "I'll also hold you down, so I won't have to punish you for struggling. I don't think you're going to be able to hold still for this, babe, but it's okay, I got you. I won't punish you for motions you can't help."

He felt Stiles' sobs increase a little underneath the hand trapping his arms. Eventually, Stiles would learn to thank him for a kindness like this, but it was okay if he was still learning right now.

"One." Theo raised the cane and brought it down hard across Stiles' butt. He didn't hold back this time. He'd cut the punishment down significantly, so it was only fair to deliver it with force. Not _quite_ as hard as he could, because that could break something, but hard enough that Stiles would learn well to fear application of the cane and all behaviors that brought about its use.

Stiles screamed, bucking like he'd been stabbed with a live wire.

+++++

Stiles had thought he was in pain before, but nothing could have prepared him for this. It was worse than the whipping, even if it was probably less damaging. It was worse than anything he'd ever felt.  Some part of him was distantly glad that Theo didn't expect him to hold still and count this out, he never could have managed it. It was all he could do not to thrash _too_ hard against the hand holding him down, because his body was _desperate_ to escape the pain. He couldn't, though.

Theo landed blow after methodical blow, and all Stiles could do was scream and sob and wish he could pass out. When it finally ended, Stiles lay still, gasping and sobbing hysterically. He couldn't _imagine_ what it would have been like if Theo had given him the full count he'd originally promised. He felt like that would have killed him, even though he knew realistically it probably couldn't have.

 _Huge mental note to self: do not attempt escape without reasonable chance of success, failure very much not worth it,_ Stiles thought. He could barely breathe around his own tears. Maybe he was being a whimp, but he was dizzy and ill and it _fucking hurt like hell._

Theo made distracted, soothing sounds and dragged him backwards, settling Stiles' feet back on the floor and putting him at a more convenient angle for what he wanted next.

Stiles let him, unable to stop crying, but not resisting as Theo pulled his sore hips back and spread his legs. Shuddering, Stiles shoved the back of his knuckles against his mouth, whimpering as Theo rubbed a much too dry thumb against his hole. He wanted to remind the asshole that there was a thing called _lube_ and it was invented for a goddamn _reason,_ but he was smart enough to hold his tongue.

Thankfully, Theo did in fact have some lube handy, and did remember to use it. After a brief pause, presumably to retrieve it, he dribbled some down Stiles' crack, tracing his fingers through it and pushing the slickness into Stiles' body. It was cold against Stiles burning skin and he shivered. Theo's other hand reached below Stiles' body, pulling his hips back further and wrapping around Stiles' dick. These fingers were slick too, gliding easily as they stroked and fisted Stiles' stiff, aching flesh.

Stiles shuddered again, the pleasure as hot and bright as his pain, and the next breath he sobbed in was shaky from more than only agony. He hadn't heard Theo unzip, but he must have because Stiles felt the stiff, heavy firmness of the werewolf's erection come to rest between his butt cheeks. Theo took himself in hand, lightly whacking his dick against Stiles' butt and rubbing against his cleft, like he was enjoying feeling the heat of Stiles' glowing backside against his skin.

Theo may have decided he believed in lube, but he most definitely did not seem to believe in doing much prep. Theo liked to open Stiles up with his cock, and that's exactly what he did, holding Stiles' painful ass tightly and fucking into him until his body gave.

Stiles held onto the couch cushion, his sobs strengthening again at the new waves of pain. His knees buckled and he let the couch take his weight, Theo holding his hips at the desired angle as he finished bottoming out. Stiles tensed, tears leaking down his face as Theo's hips pressed into his bruises, the other boy's body and clothing feeling cool and rough against his abused skin.

Theo stilled once he was fully sheathed, exhaling against Stiles' back with a groan. " _Fuck,_ " he murmured hoarsely, voice heated with pleasure that was almost ragged. " _Fuck._ "

"I t-thought that was the general idea."Stiles' brain-mouth filter always had been crap, but he only realized he'd mumbled the sarcastic words aloud and not in his head when Theo chuckled.

Theo ran his hands up and down Stiles' sides, then reached around Stiles again, fisting him until Stiles' breath started to hitch less from tears and more from other causes and his hips began to move in agonized, needy little motions. Theo pressed into his urgent little jerks, grinding deep, rolling about inside Stiles' tight body and hissing appreciatively.

Stiles gasped, stomach muscles constricting spasmodically against the sudden burst of sensation when Theo unexpectedly rubbed up against his prostate. Pleasure skated uneasily, almost uncomfortably under his skin, warring with the pain still shivering through him, and yet somehow also accentuated by it. Stiles shifted, squirming a little under Theo. He felt over full, the werewolf's thick dick stretching him out painfully, but the more Theo rolled his hips in that slow, maddening grind, the more the agonized tension in his abused body began to take on a jagged, pleasurable edge.

Theo pulled back without warning, powerful hips slamming home again a moment later. Stiles' back arched, his mouth falling open in a hoarse, guttural cry that started out as agony under the harsh, driving penetration and ended up containing a wild, desperate note of shocked bliss at the end as Theo's dick nailed his prostate again, this time with blinding force. Theo seemed to like the reaction he'd gotten, because he grabbed Stiles' squirming hips and fucked into him again and again, pounding against the sensitive pleasure areas inside of him mercilessly.

Stiles didn't know if it was the drugs had been given, or how keyed up he was after the long spanking, but Theo was very thoroughly keeping his promise and whatever the reason, it was definitely feeling a _lot_ better than last time. It still hurt like blazes, though. Theo was fucking him much too roughly, and Stiles' body felt like one giant bruise. Every penetrating snap of Theo's hips ground the pain into him deeper, but now it was grinding pleasure into him too.

Theo's energetic motions had pushed Stiles further over onto the couch and there werewolf took a moment to drag him back again for ease of access. The angle shifted, Theo thrusts a little off-center now, tantalizingly grazing Stiles' pleasure centers, but not catching them as perfectly as before. Stiles wriggled, gasping, almost keening, wanting the sensation back even though he knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't want any of this. He _didn't_ want it, not really, but the pleasure _almost_ made the pain bearable for a minute, and he was so desperately hard. His head may not want this, but at least for the moment, his body kind of did. Stiles squirmed harder, trying to fix the angle, gasping raggedly as the motion chafed his abused ass even worse.

Theo put an end to that, he gave Stiles' sore backside firm slap and held onto his hips tighter. "Be good," he admonished huskily.

Stiles yelped and whimpered piteously. His ass was so sensitive, so very, very raw. The harsh touch sent pain radiating through him, but it also made him clench around Theo's driving cock, which sent knife edged slivers of pleasure slicing through his insides. Theo drove into him over and over Stiles whined, starting to feel desperate.

 _"Theo!"_ He gasped out. "Theo, please!"

"You want something, Stiles?" Theo's voice was harsh with pleasure and exertion, but Stiles could hear the smile in it. He knew then, that Theo was doing this intentionally and knew very well what he wanted.

Stiles clenched his eyes shut, balled his fists against the couch tried not to whimper. He wasn't going to let Theo force him to beg for this.

Theo chuckled behind him. "It's okay, babe," he murmured. "I know what you need, I'll take care of you." He shifted a little, and starbursts exploded through Stiles' nerves again. Theo kept shifting and adjusting until he found all the places and angles that made Stiles cry out, his body jerking and twitching in ecstasy. He then proceeded to hammer them relentlessly, until Stiles was breathless, shuddering, keening wreck.

"You like that?" Theo growled, fucking harder and harder into the trembling body under him. "I can tell you do. Fuck, Stiles, you reek of arousal and desperation. You've been needing this for a long time, haven't you? Ever since I came back, you've gone around smelling like frustration and desperation. You don't know how many times I was tempted to just pin you down and give you what you need. Just fuck you until you stopped thinking and worrying about anything other than my dick, and how amazing it felt your ass. Just fuck you until you were exhausted and boneless and at peace."

"Oh, s-so your dick is _magic_ now," Stiles couldn't stop himself from snarling indignantly around bitten-off moans. "Cures all ills, does it?"

Theo smirked, driving into Stiles hard at a particularly good angle.

 _"Fuck!"_ Stiles gasped helplessly, almost sobbing the word.

"I don't know, Stiles, why don't you tell me? You certainly seemed to be enjoying it."

Any retort Stiles might have attempted was cut short by Theo abruptly picking him up and carrying him across the room. He dropped Stiles the mattress, face down and knelt behind him.

"Hands and knees, Stiles. Stick your ass up for me," Theo commanded.

Stiles tried to get his shaky, discombobulated limbs to obey, but Theo impatiently grabbed his hips and pulled them up when Stiles didn't move fast enough. He was inside Stiles again almost immediately. He must be close now because his motions were becoming more forceful, more frenetic. Stiles buried his head on his arms. His body was tense and exhausted. He was so completely overwhelmed and strung out that it made all his nerve endings feel strangely exposed and alive. He felt like cheap wire being forced to sustain too much current, and it was burning him out.

Stiles climaxed unexpectedly hard, screaming as he spilled onto the blankets in a hot rush. He wouldn't realize until later that he'd come completely untouched.

Theo growled, claws digging into Stiles' sides as he thrust into him a few more times before finding the edge of his own endurance and toppling into it.

Stiles winced and shifted beneath Theo, first confused, then alarmed when he felt a strange, growing pressure inside him. He glanced back over his shoulder uncertainly, only to find himself confronted by glowing golden eyes and werewolf features. Theo was in his full beta shift, and Stiles wished that wasn't quite so hot. Theo was buried deep inside of him thrusting in sharp little jerks that rubbed almost unbearably against over stimulated prostate. The pressure inside his ass continued to grow, as if the base of Theo's cock were swelling just inside his entrance.

_No way. No **freaking** way. Oh, you have **got** to be kidding me._

Theo grinned around a mouthful of sharp canines, reading the disbelief on Stiles' face. "Did you think I was kidding about knotting you, Stiles?" He murmured, half growled. "I told you, you are mine."

"Nngh, great. Freaking fantastic," Stiles winced out through grit teeth. The swell inside him was becoming incredibly painful. "Of c-course this is a thing. Of _course_ it is. That figures," he grumbled, only barely managing not to sob.

Theo groaned, moving his knot around in Stiles' passage until it finished forming and was too tight for further action, locking him into Stiles' body as he continued to cum inside him. The werewolf's arms wrapped around him, actually trembling a little. Theo held onto him as if he were riding a wave, heaving chest pressed against Stiles' back, his face nestled into the crook of Stiles' neck. Fangs brushed and scraped against Stiles' skin, but Theo wasn't trying to bite him, he was simply gasping raggedly against his shoulder. Apparently, this felt really, _really_ good for him.

For Stiles? Not so much.  

"F-fuck that's big," Stiles moaned, trying desperately to relax around the plug, but it was simply too large. It felt like someone had shoved a freaking fist or a baseball inside him, although in reality it probably wasn't _actually_ that large. It _felt_ like it though.

"You'll learn to like it, Stiles," Theo promised, his voice so husky and guttural that it barely even sounded like him. "All good bitches want their alpha's knot."

There was a lot about that statement that Stiles could have objected to, but what came blurting out of his mouth was: "You're not my alpha." Stiles immediately bit his tongue and winced. That was probably _not_ the smartest thing he could have said. He tensed up, heart rate spiking in fear. Theo had already made it clear how possessive he was, and Stiles desperately didn't want to be hurt again, not so soon. _Please, please, not again so soon._ "I mean, like, you're not an alpha, because, like, you're a beta, like, with the golden eyes and shit," he tried to make it better, probably only digging his grave deeper. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

To Stiles' great surprise, Theo took no offense. In fact, he ignored Stiles' response all together. Still firmly knotted between Stiles' legs, he rolled them both on to their side, spooning behind Stiles. Reaching around Stiles' body, he took the human's dick in his slick, warm fist and started stroking him again purposefully. "Think you're ready to cum again for me, Stiles?"

Stiles squirmed, still very sensitive from his recent orgasm. "Does it really matter _what_ I think?" He retorted weakly. He did not fail to notice Theo's complete avoidance of the previous topic. He was certainly glad the werewolf wasn't mad, but it was ... _odd,_ that after so much insistence on Stiles being his, he let that challenge go without a word. It was almost as if, in the heat of the moment, Theo had said more than he intended and now just wanted Stiles to not think too much about it.

Naturally, this made Stiles try to think a _lot_ about it. He said nothing, but a new, horrible suspicion tightened in his overwrought gut. So, Theo wanted to be alpha, did he? Well, there was one clear path to that goal, and one particular person standing in his way. _Scott._ Stiles struggled to work this information through in his addled and exhausted brain. _What was Theo planning? He couldn't take Scott's power, not even if he killed him. If it was that easy, Peter would have gone at him much more directly. So what was Theo up to?_

Stiles bit his lip, thoughts scattering as Theo's fingers dug almost painfully into his sensitive flesh while at the same time he gave his still swollen knot a little jab inside Stiles.

"I know you have trouble focusing, Stiles, but I would think that, under the circumstances, I could hold your attention for a _few_ minutes," Theo said, biting lightly at his earlobe. "You always did think too much." There was an edge of hardness in his voice that made Stiles tense up again. Theo might be the one who had fucked up and drawn Stiles' attention somewhere he didn't want it, but if he got angry about it, Stiles was the one likely to pay the price.

"I-I feel sick, Theo," Stiles mumbled a little shakily, lying with the truth. "My head hurts. What … what the fuck did you give me, anyway? I don't like it, I feel like I can't even remember what I'm doing from one second to the next." All of that was true, even if he offered it as a distraction. "I don't feel good," he groaned, which he really, truly didn't. He felt shocky and weak and incredibly dizzy.

Theo relaxed fractionally against his back, his hand working against Stiles' body again, slowly coaxing him back to full hardness.

"Well then, I'll have to fix that," Theo spoke against the back of his neck. "I want you to feel _very_ good, Stiles. I think you'll remember what's happening then." He smiled against Stiles, thumb rubbing circles across the head of his erection in a way that made Stiles start to breath harder and squirm a little in his arms. "It's going to be a while before my knot goes down. Let's see how many times you can cum before then."

It turned out, that Stiles could cum exactly three more times before his worn out body had nothing left to give. Which didn't stop Theo from coaxing him through at least two more excruciating dry orgasms, until Stiles was curled up in his arms, a shaky, quivering, crying wreck, begging him to stop.

When Theo finally did stop, Stiles' dick felt raw, his guts empty and his ass still much too full. Theo's knot had yet to release, so they lay there together on the mattress, spent and exhausted. Theo pulled a blanket over them and wrapped his arms around Stiles, holding him close.

Stiles was too worn out to do anything but relax into Theo's embrace and accept the gentle, tender little touches and comforting murmurs his captor offered.

"Better, now?" Theo murmured.

"Y-yeah," Stiles mumbled back, but even he knew he was lying. He pressed his eyes shut and trembled in exhausted, hopeless fear, tears tracing silently down his face. _Please, Theo, please just let me rest._

Theo pulled on Stiles' shoulders a little, but all he did was turn him enough that he could lean around and kiss him softly. Just a brush of lips at first, then a warm, gentle tongue slipping into his mouth.

Stiles kissed back dazedly, but mostly just let Theo explore him as he wished, his hand absently twisting and fisting against Theo's rumpled shirt. The werewolf was still almost fully clothed, despite how thoroughly he'd just fucked the naked boy he was holding. As if realizing this as well, or perhaps just wanting to feel more of Stiles against him, Theo paused and tugged his shirt off over his head. His sculpted chest was warm against Stiles' back as he pressed close to him again, kissing Stiles sweetly and deeply until Stiles started to settle and relax.

"It's okay, Stiles," he murmured. "I know this is a rough transition for you, but I'm here, I'll help you through it," he promised. "One day, you'll understand."

Stiles sincerely doubted that, but he simply pushed back into the warmth of Theo's body and said nothing. Despite the flaming throb of his welts and bruises, his body was starting to go cold as adrenaline drained away and wounded exhaustion, dehydration, and lack of adequate sustenance took brutal hold. He shivered, and Theo rubbed his arms comfortingly, pulling another blanket over them.

"It won't always be so hard," Theo promised earnestly, lacing their fingers together. "I just need you to understand who you belong to." There was an almost plaintive note in his voice. "You know that now, don't you, Stiles?"

Stiles nodded faintly against him.

"Who do you belong to?" Theo whispered, and _damn_ if it didn't sound like a lost, aching little plea this time, almost like he was _begging_ Stiles for the confirmation. Was Theo that good an actor? Or that messed up? Stiles didn't know.

"You," he whispered back hoarsely after a moment. 

"I know you don't really mean that, not yet," Theo sighed against his back, but he didn't seem angry. "But that's okay. There's time." 

Stiles wondered about that. He'd done everything he could to appease Theo just now, to play to his warped fantasy. It was a matter of doing what he had to in order to survive, and Stiles was good at that... but he wondered about what Theo had said and what his actual goal here was. Stiles had been assuming that Theo intended to have his fun with him and then get rid of him, after all, what possible use was he to the werewolf once he got over the novelty of beating and fucking him?  But Theo was acting like he had a long term game plan in mind for the two of them.  Honestly, that thought terrified Stiles. Maybe he should be glad Theo probably wasn't going to slit his throat as soon as they weren't tied together anymore, but the prospect of being held indefinitely in this situation did not thrill him. He didn't know how much of this he could endure.  

"Is there?" Stiles pressed, feeling like he wanted to do nothing more than sleep for a year, but needing information. "Is there time?  People are going to miss me, eventually," he said quietly, hoping that Theo's afterglow would keep his mood good.

"Don't worry about that," Theo murmured around a yawn. "They've got bigger things to worry about."

_Well **that** wasn't at all ominous. _

Stiles started to ask another question, but Theo hushed him. "Shh, just relax, Stiles. Soon as my knot goes down, I'll help you get cleaned up and get you something to eat, if you're up for it. Or you can sleep first, whichever."

Stiles sighed and settled his head against Theo's arm, trying to think ... but his exhausted mind gave out on him, and sleep claimed him barely two minutes later.


	4. I'm gonna tear into your soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR AMAZING, FANTASTIC, WONDERFUL REVIEWS. I hope you all know that the continued existence and updating of this fic is entirely due to you all encouraging me. I've never stuck out a writing project this long before, so this is definitely all your fault. (♥ω♥*) I love each and every one of you sooo much for the lovely feedback. You are my muses. (づ￣ ³￣)づ
> 
> This story a canon-divergent AU. It follows off most of the events in Season 5, but then branches off to follow it's own path somewhere about episode 8. So please be aware that certain situations and reveals are going to be handled differently than they were on the show. 
> 
> In case anyone's wondering, all the chapter titles are taken from the same song as the story title. "Desire" by Meg Myers. 
> 
> Because of how things progress in this chapter and will progress in the next, I think I should just put this out there: Theo is a master manipulator. Stiles is starting to become confused about his own level of complicity in this whole situation which means we're starting to delve into dubious consent territory. Make no mistake though, that given the circumstances, what Theo is doing to Stiles _is_ rape, whether or not Stiles thinks of it as such and whether or not he starts to reciprocate. The nature of his captivity and the fact that Theo hurts him if he doesn't go along negates the possibility of true consent. I love Theo and dark, whumpy badwrong sex in fiction, but what he's doing to Stiles is unforgivable. Never let _ANYBODY_ treat you abusively, no matter how much they wrap it up in terms of love, 'kay? 
> 
> Okay, PSA over with, on to the good stuff... ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

Despite what he'd told Theo about needing or expecting rescue, Stiles spent the first few days of his captivity truly believing it quite possible that any moment the door was going to open, and it would be his friends, or his dad, and this whole thing would become one more nightmare he could try to pretend had never happened. However, as the days dragged on and on with no one but Theo ever coming through that door, that hope began to dim.

He knew they had to be looking for him by now. They had to be. His dad, at the least, would never stop looking for him; he knew that to his soul. Unfortunately, as far as he knew, he was the only one aware that Theo was a lying scumbag turncoat who was working with the Doctors, which meant that Theo was probably "searching" right alongside the rest of the pack, being his usual _helpful_ self and guaranteeing they would never find him.

That thought was beyond depressing, but then, Stiles wasn't one to just sit around waiting for anything, anyway. He may have been secretly hoping for rescue during those early days, but he was also very actively trying to find his own way out as well. He scoured every inch of his cell for anything he could use to his advantage, any weakness or flaw that could be exploited, but he came up empty. Stiles was good at improvisation, there was just very little here to work with.

There was no breaking down the sturdy, steel reinforced door, or tunneling out of the solid, cement slab walls or ceiling. The only time the door was unlocked was when Theo was there, but that was useless unless Stiles could incapacitate him and the room's meager furnishings offered little in the way of weaponry that would accomplish that task. Stiles judged that the electricity from the wall socket by the fridge and water from the bathtub were going to be the most promising elements he had to work with, if only he could figure out how to best make use of them.

That was easier said than done, since Theo continued to keep him on whatever the drugs were that were screwing with his libido and his ability to think. To make matters worse, Theo wouldn't give him the one drug he actually _needed_. Stiles had been on one form of Adderall or another since grade school and his dosage had been gradually increased over time as he grew older and his body more adapted and less responsive to the psychostimulant. He'd never considered himself dependant on it, but that was because he'd never been without it for long periods of time.

Withdrawal hit him hard, increasing his mental and physical fatigue and the weight of the black depression settling over him. His hands wouldn't stop shaking and throwing up did little to ease his nausea.  Ironically, despite how ill it made him feel, withdrawal also increased his hunger, which was its own kind of torture in his current situation.

Theo kept the mini-fridge stocked with water and meal-replacement style protein and vitamin shakes for Stiles, but the only time he got real, solid food was when Theo came to visit and brought it to him. Maybe this was just a matter of convenience for Theo, but the suspicious part of Stiles' mind suspected it was an intentional means of getting him to look forward to Theo's appearance; another way of making him dependant on the werewolf.

It worked more than he wanted to admit. As much as he knew that Theo turning up was almost certain to mean unwanted touching and probably pain, it also meant food, and Stiles was _so_ hungry all the time. If he were good, Theo brought him more food, and treats like candy bars and donuts. If he wasn't, Stiles didn't get any food and Theo punished him until he couldn't sit down.

Stiles tried to be good, he really did. It wasn't easy, though. Submission did not come naturally to him. Stiles' mouth had always worked ahead of his brain and he had a low threshold for Theo's bullshit that constantly got him into trouble. His butt spent a lot of quality time getting acquainted with Theo's hand, or the paddle, as a result of him mouthing off.

To be fair, Theo didn't punish him just for being sarcastic or snarky, he seemed to accept and even to enjoy Stiles' acerbic wit to a certain extent; but there was a line, and when Stiles pushed past it, he could expect a trip over Theo's lap, or worse. The problem, of course, was that Stiles had always been bad about crossing lines. The Adderall withdrawal only made it worse. He was unreasonably agitated, irritable and anxious, and Theo was such a giant, entitled asshole it was much too easy to go off on him. Recognizing when he should stop had never been among Stiles' stronger skills, and the current situation just made it worse.

Theo said he was starting to suspect that Stiles _liked_ being punished. Sometimes, he stroked Stiles' cock in time with the beating, making Stiles cum while he was being spanked. The intensity of those pain-fueled orgasms was unbelievably breathtaking. It left Stiles feeling shattered and blissful and deeply confused about his own body.  Theo taught Stiles things about himself that he hadn't imagined and didn't really want to know. He taught Stiles just how much he could enjoy being hurt, being humiliated, and being held down and forced to just take what he was given.

Stiles was a practical person. He knew that there were certain, physical facts that couldn't be avoided. If you worked his dick enough, he'd experience pleasure whether he wanted to or not. Orgasm did not equate consent and all that. He _knew_ that was true, but it didn't feel like it explained everything. It didn't explain the arousal he was starting to feel when Theo whispered dirty, embarrassing things in his ear or when he made Stiles kneel, spread himself open and beg for Theo's cock. It didn't explain how his gut lurched a little with desire when Theo stripped and crawled on top of him, boxing Stiles in with his arms and kissing him like a lover. It didn't explain the way the by now familiar stings of pain that Theo dealt him had started going straight through his body to his dick, whether he was being touched there or not. It didn't explain why sometimes ... sometimes maybe he _almost_ _wanted_ Theo to fuck him. The pleasure could be a guilty escape; it let him stop thinking for a few minutes, and the more time that passed, the more desperately Stiles needed to get out of his own head.

He felt like Theo was pulling him further and further down a very dark and twisting rabbit hole where nothing was quite like it should be. Pain became pleasure, pleasure became pain and he sobbed out his confusion and despair into the gentle, comforting embrace of the person who was abusing him.

Stiles practically begged Theo to bring him his Adderall, even pointing out that it would make him easier to manage and less annoying, but Theo refused. He kissed Stiles sweetly, saying he didn't find him annoying and that Stiles didn't need drugs to control himself. Theo said he was sure Stiles could do it just fine on his own if he tried, and he was more than happy to keep providing discipline as an incentive to help him.

This was the most incredibly hypocritical bullshit nonsense in the entire history of hypocritical bullshit nonsense, since Theo had absolutely no problem pumping him full of _other_ drugs in order to keep Stiles horny and pliant. Theo was withholding his medication _because_ he wanted Stiles off balance and unable to focus. Heaven forbid Stiles should be able to think properly when Theo wanted him strung out and stupid; happy to just lay around and spread his legs for the narcissistic, power-hungry asshole whenever he could be bothered to show up.

Maybe, if he'd been on his meds, Stiles wouldn't have said all that out loud. Maybe he wouldn't have irrationally lashed out and shoved Theo into the wall as he did. Maybe he wouldn't have spent the next two hours bent face down over the footstool, bare knees getting badly scraped up on the hard cement floor as Theo alternately paddled and fucked him harshly, lecturing Stiles about how everything he did was for Stiles' good; the "medication" he gave him meant to help Stiles' human body compensate for its unavoidable limitations so he could enjoy their time together. 

Theo allowed Stiles no pleasure to ease the pain this time, driving home the point that he didn't _need_ to let Stiles get off, didn't _have_ to make this in any way enjoyable for him. Pleasure was a gift he chose to give, and Stiles should be grateful for it when he did. Rolling Stiles onto his side and yanking his leg up by the knee, Theo _literally_ fucked him sideways and it hurt a lot. It hurt... but Stiles was so worked up, he came anyway, which only pissed Theo off more.   

Theo introduced him to what a cock cage was then, locking Stiles up and not allowing him release for days. Theo was cruel about it; tormenting Stiles, teasing him, keeping him constantly unbearably aroused but unable to do anything about it. Combined with his utter boredom, the libido enhancing drugs and the potent physical and mental distress and agitation of his psychostimulant withdrawal, it made Stiles feel like he was losing his mind.

Eventually he gave in, apologizing and begging Theo to let him cum. Theo made him work hard for the privilege: sucking Theo off, riding him, telling him how much he wanted to be split open on Theo's dick, how much he wanted his knot, and how fucking much he needed release. Eventually, Theo gave him all those things.

The ecstasy and the relief was amazing and Stiles felt contented and sanguine for the first time in ages. The intense shot of pleasurable adrenaline to his badly unbalanced mental chemistry made him feel drunk and almost happy.

Theo carried him to the tub afterwards, sharing the shower with him and washing Stiles down gently under the warm spray. Soft touches and even softer kisses slowly devolved into a second round of mind-blowing shower sex. Slick bodies gliding against one another, soapy skin slipping and sliding easily to create delicious friction, the falling water adding new layers of sensation and heat ... this was not a thing Stiles had ever done before, and he enjoyed it much more than he should have.

They ended up on the bottom of the tub with Stiles straddling Theo's thighs. His arms around Theo's neck, forehead resting on his shoulder, Stiles rode the werewolf's dick, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate circles. Theo's skin was so wet, Stiles' sore thighs gilded easily against him and he was already so slick and stretched out from earlier that the penetration was almost effortless.

Theo kissed his neck, holding Stiles' wet hips and guiding him up and down, but letting Stiles set the pace. Stiles took advantage of that little bit of unexpected freedom, grinding himself against Theo in the ways that felt best for him, angling so that Theo was hitting the right places inside him while at the same time, his own cock thrust and dug into the slippery, muscular surface of Theo's taut abs.

Stiles should not like this, he knew that. He hated Theo and he shouldn't enjoy his body ... but Stiles needed to feel good so badly. He felt like his chest was full of broken glass, and he just couldn't take the sensation of all those jagged shards grinding into his lungs and heart every time he breathed anymore. He needed distraction. He needed something that wasn't pain. He needed to not hurt both mentally and physically for just a few minutes. He needed it like air, because he was drowning and couldn't find the surface. He didn't care if this was wrong, or what it made him. He needed it. So he fucked himself down onto Theo slowly, riding his kidnapper's dick as the pleasure built and built until his motions started becoming more urgent and sloppy, hips driving harder and his thighs beginning to shake as climax reached out for him with hot, shivering fingers.

He came with a soft, ragged gasp, fingers digging into Theo's back, hips jerking against him in needy, spasmodic motions.

Theo allowed Stiles' hips to settle down fully onto him, his hand skating up Stiles' wet, heaving back and holding him close as he shuddered through his orgasm. The werewolf was still in need of relief himself and was rock hard inside Stiles' body, but he didn't rush Stiles off his climax. Instead, he slid one hand between them and lightly stroked Stiles' throbbing, sensitive cock, caressing and milking him through his climax in a way that increased and prolonged the pleasure of it.

Stiles groaned softly, biting his lips against how absolutely awesome that felt, his forehead pressing harder into Theo's shoulder.

Theo let him stay like that a minute or two, gentling and caressing him through the twitching aftershocks that tingled in his gut, through his thighs and down his legs. Eventually Theo turned them around, so Stiles' weary body was resting in a semi-sitting position, supported against the far end of the tub. Kneeling over him, Theo held his knees up and apart, protecting Stiles from the falling water with his body as he fucked into him in short, hungry little motions; kissing the human breathless as he sought his own release.

Limp and oversensitive from pleasure, Stiles moaned helplessly into the kiss. When Theo finally released his legs and collapsed shuddering against him, Stiles instinctively let his arms curl around Theo's back, feeling the hard, driving force of the werewolf's pulse pounding under his hands beneath the flowing water.

If Stiles had claws, he would have been very tempted to reach for that beating heart under his fingertips. To dig into the flesh until he felt the essence of life cupped in his hand. It was a disturbing thought, especially since it wasn't actually an angry one. Stiles had plenty of reasons to hate Theo, but he was too lax with pleasure and exhaustion for that kind of strong negative emotion right now. Honestly, Stiles didn't know what he was feeling.

He closed his eyes against his own confusion, letting his legs settle around Theo's hips, ankles crossing behind his thighs as he felt the by now familiar pressure of Theo's knot swelling inside him. Initially, Theo only seemed able to knot him when he was in his beta shift. Lately, though, he'd been able to do it even when he maintained his human appearance. The fact that Stiles' soggy mind couldn't be bothered to try to come up with reasons or ideas for why that was, or to even feel curious about it, was a certain sign of how wrong things were in his head.

Stiles shifted, using his legs to pull Theo's hips in a little closer to his body, settling the knot into a better spot. He was so relaxed it didn't really hurt that much this time, and anyway, this was something else he'd started to get used to by now.  

Theo lifted up on his elbows, surrounded by spray, his hair and features dripping with water like little diamonds. He could look so damn innocent when he wanted to, and it was the angel's smile that was curling his mouth as he fixed Stiles with a look of almost unbearablely earnest affection.

"I love you, Stiles," he murmured. "You're amazing."

Stiles blinked, and water must have gotten into his eyes because they were suddenly stinging and he had no fucking idea why. He should have laughed at such a ludicrous declaration, because either it was a just a manipulative lie, or Theo had absolutely no concept of what love actually was. He didn't, though. Stiles may not be able to read heartbeats, but looking into Theo's eyes, he didn't think the werewolf was lying, and somehow, there just wasn't anything funny about it at all.

Stiles had no idea what he was supposed to be feeling right now and even less idea of how he should respond. Thankfully, Theo didn't seem to expect a response. Instead, he just leaned down and kissed Stiles again. _That,_ Stiles knew how to respond to.

Stiles knew he lost some of his moral high ground after that, if he'd ever had any to begin with. He couldn't exactly pretend to either Theo or himself that he hadn't wanted it when he'd pretty much initiated the shower incident all on his own.  After that, all the lines started to blur into increasingly foggy shades of gray. He wouldn't be here if Theo wasn't keeping him, he wouldn't be sleeping with the werewolf if he had a choice, but the more he obeyed and adapted to Theo's expectations, the more complicit he felt, until in his heart it didn't feel like rape anymore, it felt like they were in some kind of screwed up relationship he simply couldn't escape.  

Theo was often actually pleasant to be around when he came to visit, bringing pizza and games to break up the horrible, endless monotony of Stiles' empty days and providing the chance for conversation with someone other than the dark, condemning voices in Stiles' head. Stiles was so starved for company and mental stimulation that he would sometimes talk almost continually as he ate, his mind hopping and leaping around almost incomprehensibly from subject to subject. Theo never seemed to mind. He let Stiles prattle on, interjecting occasionally when it seemed appropriate. He seemed to find it endearing, actually, which was certainly not an opinion that had ever been shared by anyone else in Stiles' life who had had to deal with him in his hyper, un-medicated state.

Sometimes Theo brought a laptop and a bunch of DVDs and they'd sit curled up on the couch together watching movies for hours. Stiles had been kept naked since he'd arrived. Theo never allowed him clothing, but he did allow him to wrap up in a blanket while they watched movies, if he was cold.

Stiles tried always to keep in mind that Theo was a complete asshole. He knew perfectly well what Stockholm syndrome was, _thank-you-very-much_ and he resisted the temptation to see Theo as anything other than a monster with everything he had. The problem was, he didn't have much left after a while.

He had so little control over his situation, his life, even his own body. The only way to try to make things at all less horrible than they were, was to play Theo's game. So he went along, play-acting like he was Theo's lover; one the werewolf just happened to keep trapped in a basement and occasionally enjoyed beating the hell out of, because sure, that was perfectly normal.

The problem was when the act and reality started to blend, because he really _was_ glad to see Theo when he showed up, because Stiles was going fucking _insane_ staring at these four blank walls for hour after endless hour with nothing to do but worry about what was happening out in the rest of the world while he nursed his latest set of bruises. He _did_ enjoy the distraction of playing games or watching movies with Theo, as well as the physical rush of having sex, when Theo let it feel good. There was a slowly widening gulf between Stiles' mind and his feelings that he didn't know how to reconcile.

After a few weeks, they'd started to settle into a kind of equilibrium. Then, of course, Stiles had to fuck it up, because that's what Stiles always did.

It had taken him that long to work the plate off the electric socket behind the fridge without any tools aside from his fingers. Untwisting the wires inside, he stripped the refrigerator cord with his teeth and jury-rigged a conduit from the wall to the floor, then flooded the floor with water overflowing from the tub, and attempted to electrocute Theo when next he came down.

It almost worked. It would have, if either the damn circuit breaker hadn't tripped, or the shitty old wiring hadn't blown too soon, whichever it was that cut off the current short of knocking Theo unconscious, and just left him hurting and _incredibly_ pissed off instead.

He beat Stiles for hours. He paddled him raw and then caned him until he passed out from the pain. When Stiles woke up, Theo caned him again, whipping him until the rod broke. He beat and fucked Stiles until both activities drew blood, leaving Stiles physically incapable of walking, standing, or doing almost anything other than curling on the ground and sobbing helplessly, flinching and pleading brokenly for forgiveness, begging for a chance to prove he'd learned his lesson.  

Theo made him work hard for that chance, much less willing to forgive him for this second "betrayal of trust", which he seemed to take very personally.

He chained Stiles on his knees in the bathtub and left him there, kneeling immobile in freezing, thigh-high water for three full days while he cleaned up the mess Stiles had made of the room, dried out Stiles' bedding and boarded up the electrical socket. He changed the water in the tub every so often to keep Stiles clean. He gave him enough to drink to keep him alive, but nothing to eat. He force-fed Stiles antibiotics and administered painful, humiliating enemas from time to time to make sure that Stiles' torn up insides remained clean and un-infected. He didn't want Stiles to die, he just wanted him to suffer; which was exactly what Stiles did. 

Shivering helplessly, in horrible pain from the beatings he'd taken and unable to change position or relax the strain in his agonized muscles, Stiles thought that people had the wrong idea about hell. It wasn't fire and brimstone, it was freezing water and cramping muscles and a body that couldn't stop shaking no matter how badly every tremor made your bruised and broken flesh hurt _._

He lapsed in and out of consciousness, his shoulders becoming solid, unbearable knots of pain as they were forced to continually support his weight because his throbbing, abused thigh muscles were incapable of doing anything but making him sob helplessly. He felt feverish and ill, despite the antibiotics.

The fourth day, Theo finally drained the water out of the tub, but Stiles wasn't in for a reprieve just yet. After administering another enema with water that was much too hot (to "warm him up" Theo said, although all it made him feel was burned and miserable), the werewolf declared him healed enough for the second part of his punishment. With Stiles still chained in place, he pushed a vibrator deep into Stiles' aching body, pressing it up against his prostrate. He turned it on ... and left.

Stiles didn't know how many hours Theo left him there, squirming and shivering in the tub, unable to ignore or do anything about the object buzzing away inside him.  The vibration felt good at first, but it quickly became its own kind of agony when it just didn't end. Already too weak and abused, Stiles couldn't bear the extra stimulation. His body didn't have the resources to deal with being aroused and yet it was and the need for relief became another one of the agonies he could do nothing about.

He was practically delirious by the time Theo finally returned and unchained him. He could hardly move, he was so stiff, sore and weak, but he struggled to spread his legs and push his trembling butt up when Theo dropped him on the bed and crawled over him. He pressed his head into his arms, wincing when the vibrator was yanked out and tearfully begging Theo to fuck him. Not because he wanted anything remotely _near_ his hurting ass right now, but because he desperately wanted to make Theo happy.

Theo fucked him; not terribly hard, but more than hard _enough_ in his current state _._ Stiles cried, but when Theo asked if he wanted to stop, Stiles shook his head quickly, hoarsely begging Theo to take him _harder,_ because Stiles knew if they stopped, if he didn't make Theo happy enough with him to assuage his irritation, Theo was either going to beat him or going to put him back in the tub again, or both, and he couldn't take any more of that, he simply _couldn't._

Theo had to know exactly how badly Stiles was hurting, but he took him at his word and fucked the daylights out of him. Stiles sobbed and held himself as still as possible, trying desperately to be good, to be so good Theo would forget he was angry and wouldn't punish him anymore.

Theo held him afterwards and Stiles curled into him, needing comfort, needing to know he was forgiven and safe on a visceral level that was too raw and desperate for any pretense or play acting.

"I should put you back now, Stiles," Theo murmured, almost sadly.

Stiles trembled, shaking his head desperately against Theo's chest and practically burrowing into him. "No... no, no, please," he croaked hoarsely. "Let me stay with you, Theo, let me stay here with you," he sobbed, rubbing himself against Theo in a vague, desperate attempt at seduction. "L-Lemme suck you, or - or you can fuck me again, or whatever you want, I'll be good, I'll be so good, Theo, I _swear_."

"Shh," Theo rubbed his heaving, hiccupping back. "You've promised that before, Stiles. Why should I trust you again?" he murmured, still sounding sad. "I didn't want it to be this way. You know I didn't."

"I-I know, I'm sorry. I screwed up. Y-you know it takes me a while t-to learn things. I-I won't do it again, Theo, I won't. Y-You can hear my h-heartbeat, right? You know I'm not l-lying," Stiles pleaded.

Theo sighed, pulling the blanket over them and snuggling Stiles' shaking body in against him a little tighter. "I believe you mean it right _now,_ Stiles," he murmured. "I _hope_ you mean it for longer than that. I'll give you another chance, babe, but please ... please don't make me do this again. I'd have to hurt you so much worse next time, Stiles, and I don't want to do it."

"I-I won't, I won't make you, I promise," Stiles babbled softly, feeling dizzy from relief. "S-say ... say you forgive me?" he whispered hazily, desperately _needing_ to be able to be _sure_ it was really over and that Theo wasn't going to suddenly tell him he had more punishment coming.

Theo smiled and petted his hair. "I forgive you," he acquiesced. "It's okay, Stiles. Everything's going to be okay," he soothed. "You're freezing cold, babe. Let's get you warmed up a little and I'll get you some hot soup in a bit, okay?" he promised, draping his thigh over Stiles' hip and curling more of himself around Stiles' chilled body, sharing his heat. "Would you like that?"

Stiles nodded, relaxing into Theo gratefully, his lightheadedness making him feel almost giddy. "Thanks," he murmured.

Theo did bring him some soup a little while later, spoon-feeding it to him because Stiles' hands still felt thick and useless after being bound for so long and it was all he could do to lean up on his side enough not to choke on the delicious sustenance.  He was _so_ hungry, Theo had to go back for seconds and thirds before he'd finally had enough.

When he was done, Theo stayed with him, stroking Stiles' hair and looking thoughtful. "I kind of hate to have to give you bad news right now," he said after a minute. "But I think you deserve to know. Maybe I should have told you earlier, and it would have saved us some of this pain."

Stiles looked at Theo somewhat blearily, not understanding. His stomach was full and he was lying down for the first time in days. He felt relatively heavenly and just wanted to sleep.

"I know you keep wondering what everybody else is up to and if they're looking for you," Theo continued. Stiles tensed, because asking anything about the outside world was usually sure to get him punished, but if Theo had brought it up, then that wasn't Stiles' fault, was it?  He didn't know. Anything could be his fault if Theo wanted it to be.

"Babe, are you listening to me?" Theo asked.

Stiles blinked and nodded quickly, not realizing he'd started to slither down into the sinkhole of his own anxiety. His head was so messed up, he felt like he was processing everything through ten layers of molasses.

"Okay, good," Theo said gently, sliding his hand into Stiles' and entwining their fingers in a manner that shouldn't have been reassuring, except that it was. "Stiles ... there's no easy way to tell you this, but the others aren't looking anymore because they think you don't want to be found. Well, they _are_ still looking, but I think to a certain extent there are a lot of conflicted feelings about whether or not they ought to find you. See... they found out about Donovan."

Stiles had been utterly confused by whatever Theo was trying to say up until the moment he dropped the boom. A new kind of pain kicked Stiles in the ribs, stealing his breath away. His aching fingers tightened suddenly around Theo's, his body going ridged.  "H-How?" he murmured, although the truth was, he already knew. He _knew_ it was Theo's doing. He should have seen that coming.

"Not sure," Theo lied, clearly not caring that Stiles knew he was lying. "But somehow they got it all a little backwards. See, they think _you_ are the one who hunted Donovan down... just to find him at first, just to detain him and get him back into custody, so your dad would be safe. You managed to trap him in the library, but then things went sideways when he started telling you all the crap he was going to do to your dad the first chance he got. You lost it. Maybe you didn't even actually mean to kill him, just shut him up ... but you went too far and before you knew it he was dead, and then you covered it up. They think that's why you ran, because you didn't think anyone would understand. Which, by the way, they don't," he added. "They still care about you though, so that's why I said I don't know that they really want to find you, because while their heads are telling them they should try to get you back, their hearts are thinking maybe it's just best if you disappear somewhere, and they don't have to deal with whether or not you should have to pay for what you did."

Stiles stared at Theo, suddenly feeling in danger of losing everything he'd just eaten. He felt like he'd gone into free-fall. He shook his head, tears burning behind his raw, aching eyes. He couldn't believe that; _wouldn't_ believe that. Theo was a lying liar who lied and he urgently wanted to think that that's all this was, just another trick, another manipulation ... but there was a horrible cloud of black doubt weighing down on him and somehow, he knew in his heart that it was true. Theo had done this. Theo had turned them all against him, made him a monster in the eyes of everyone he cared about.

No, worse ... Stiles had done it to himself. Stiles had stuck the knife in, Theo had just twisted it.

"I know, you don't want to believe me, but I'm afraid it's true," Theo said sadly, as if reading the war behind Stiles' eyes. He pulled Stiles' phone from his pocket. "You want to hear some of the messages they've been leaving you? That should paint a pretty good picture."

Theo played through a few of the messages on speaker. There were several from his father. The general gist of them all was that Stiles needed to come in, needed to at least call and talk to him about what had happened. He pointed out that Stiles knew better than anyone how running made people look. He even hinted in one of the messages that they couldn't prove self-defense if Stiles didn't tell his side of the story, like he was desperate for there to be some other side of the story than the one he knew.

The last message had been the most heartbreaking. "Stiles, I need you to know you're my son first. I'm not calling as a cop. I just ... I need to know you're okay kiddo. Please." Stiles couldn't stand the pain in his dad's voice. Or the very faint, but very familiar slur on the end of his words. _Oh God. Somebody look out for him, please. Somebody care enough to see that he's not as strong as he pretends to be._

Scott's messages were just as bad. He sounded completely lost and like he wasn't even sure who he was talking to anymore, but he begged Stiles to come back so they could work things out somehow, or to at least call or text him to let him know he was okay.

They were all worried about him because they were good people like that, but they all believed he was a murderer. Stiles could feel it, like his mother's fearful and hurting eyes boring into him across the years, having known all along that he was, at the core, a monster. Even if they had the details wrong, they were still essentially right, he supposed. He couldn't listen to more. "Stop," he whispered, shaking his head and pressing his eyes shut, feeling like he'd been eviscerated with a dull blade. "I don't want to hear anymore."

It was all so much worse than he could possibly have imagined. He'd known that what he did to Donovan was terrible, and that they would be disappointed, hurt, horrified even ... but deep down he _knew_ that even if he should have figured out some other way of defending himself, it _had been_ self defense. As much as he'd never wanted anyone to know, he had still had that spark of hope that if they did, maybe ... _maybe_ they might be able to forgive him, or at least understand.

Now though ... somehow, Theo had twisted everything into a snarl. He'd made them believe this alternate, worse version of the truth. He'd used Stiles' own mistakes to cut him off from everything and everyone he loved. He'd made him a criminal and a fugitive. Someone no one _really_ wanted to find, with no life to go back to. Yes, they _said_ they wanted him back, but he knew Theo was right. They didn't really, not if they had to face figuring out how to deal with his supposed crimes. What would they do? Put it in the supernatural shit category, cover it up and pretend? That would poison everything between them all forever. Let the law sort it out? Stiles was almost 18 and the son of a cop, he'd likely be tried as an adult. Even his father would probably rather see him on the run than have his fresh-faced, teenage son in an adult prison for any length of time.

Maybe, if Stiles had a chance to tell them the truth, _maybe_ they'd believe him and it would make a difference, even if Theo had cooked the evidence somehow ... but it was a moot point. Theo was never going to give him that chance, and his father and his friends were going to be left thinking forever that he was a murderer who was too much of a coward to even face them.

Tears slid down Stiles' face. He pressed his eyes shut. He was too weak, too fragile and fractured to absorb this new blow. It shattered something inside him, an icy, inky darkness spreading in his chest like frost eating into his soul.

Theo shut the phone off. He took it and the soup bowl away, giving Stiles a moment to himself. He returned to find Stiles crying quietly into the blankets.  He slid down onto the mattress with Stiles again, hugging him supportively and stroking his back as he cried. "I know, I'm sorry," he murmured. "I knew it would hurt you, that's why I didn't want to tell you. But you see now, why it's pointless to keep trying to leave. There's nowhere to go, Stiles. You're better off here. They don't want you, but I do. You're not alone, babe, you've got me. I'll protect you. I love you, and I'll never leave you, I promise."

Stiles lay still in his embrace. He felt like all the life, all the fight was draining out of him like mercury bleeding from a smashed thermometer, leaving behind useless emptiness. He didn't want Theo's promises, but he did want the soft voice and comforting arms holding him close, he wanted ... _needed_ the illusion, because he was raw and aching on every level of his being. He was so weak, almost delirious with pain and his head was a mess. Having all his emotional ties suddenly severed on top of the hell of the last few days was more than he could process. He had never felt so lost. He'd been shattered into a shape he didn't recognize anymore and he could no longer see light from the bottom of this pit. In the absence of light, he would have to make do with the warm, whispering darkness that seemed so ready to harbor and re-form all these broken, jagged pieces of him, even if he abhorred the image that it intended to create. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Theo drew his pain from him in thick, pulsing lines of ugly black. He couldn't get it all, but even a little relief right now was incredibly welcome. Stiles held onto Theo, hiding against him as he quietly cried himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look me up on tumblr, if you want: [hurt-stiles](http://hurt-stiles.tumblr.com/). My blog is pretty much 100% Stiles whump. (Well, it also includes whump for all the other characters Dylan has played as well, but mostly Stiles).


	5. I gotta to bring you to my hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my lovlies! I just want to warn you that this chapter goes to some very, very dark places and contains content that may be disturbing. There is a lot of sex, including hate sex and sex involving a fair amount of descriptive blood and gore, as well as suicidal thoughts and actions. Understand that Stiles is seriously going through hell right now, and it's taking him to a very dark place, which is reflected in his thought processes and his actions. He is ultimately the victim, but he also does some questionable things that are hard for him to reconcile. There are themes of mental and emotional breakdown and dissociative disorders. If any of these things could be harmful to you, please avoid the chapter or read with caution, okay?
> 
> Also, if you have tissues, you may want to keep them handy towards the end of the chapter. I know it seems like a happy ending is really unlikely at this point, but keep the faith, my lovlies, keep the faith. 
> 
> Thank you all so, so, so, SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much for all the wonderful reviews!! I love you all so much, you have no idea!! You are the best, awesomest people alive and this story continues to be all your fault you wonderful people you. (●♡∀♡)

Theo was an attentive nursemaid over the next few days, doing everything he could to help Stiles recover from his ordeal with a confusing level of earnest, gentle supportiveness. He spent a lot more time with Stiles than usual, staying with him for hours without pushing for sex, showing up regularly to check in on him and see if he needed food, or help getting to the toilet, or someone to rub his sore, abused body down and gently work his limbs to help him regain their use. Seeing him like this, you'd never suspect he was the one who had tortured Stiles until he was unable to get out of bed without help in the first place.

The constant attention was necessary, because Stiles had slid into a deep, listless depression and could be bothered to do very little for himself. He just didn't care anymore and it showed. If Theo didn't feed him, he didn't eat. If Theo didn't ply him with liquids, he didn't drink. If Theo didn't pull him out of bed, supporting him with his arm pulled across Theo's shoulders as he made him walk around and around the room with him for exercise, Stiles wouldn't have moved. If Theo didn't bathe and clean him a couple times a week, he would certainly never have bothered with shaving or hygiene.  

Theo was understanding and patient with him at first, very patient. For a time he seemed to actually enjoy feeding, grooming and taking care of Stiles like a pet. He even gave him a haircut, complaining that the human's hair was getting too long and messy. Theo was no barber, but did a surprisingly possible job, cutting it more like he wore his own hair so it was shorter on the sides and longer on the top.

But as more time passed and Stiles' lethargy remained unchanged even as his body started to heal, the novelty wore off and the werewolf's patience began to wear thin. He insisted Stiles start grooming himself again, and that he get up and move around during his alone time, because he was going do his body damage if he didn't. When Stiles failed to comply, Theo became frustrated and sought to motivate him by hauling him to the footstool and spanking him soundly any time he came down and found the human not living up his standards of activity and appearance. Pain was one of the few stimulus to which Stiles responded.

They were mild punishments, Stiles knew that. Theo only used his hand when he found him still in bed or when Stiles forgot to shave frequently enough, but he was very strong and Stiles was still deeply bruised and tender; the dark, brutal mass of stripes from his last serious punishment still visible and painful even though they were healing. Inside he felt numb and disconnected, but the pain was vivid and tangible, reminding him how much worse things could get and forcing him to pay attention. He cried over Theo's lap and promised to do better.

Theo held him afterwards, gentle and forgiving, telling Stiles how he was just so worried about him. Sometimes he caressed and stroked Stiles, trying to get him off, but Stiles proved incapable of becoming aroused. Theo was understanding about it. He told Stiles that was okay, as he pushed into him carefully. He fucked Stiles relatively gently, telling him he was sure he'd feel better soon and not to feel bad or embarrassed that he couldn't get it up right now.

Stiles didn't. He didn't feel anything but battered and empty. He felt numb and disconnected, his depression and lassitude making his body supremely disinterested in what was happening to it as long as it wasn't too painful. Maybe Theo wasn't giving him the drugs anymore, or maybe he was just too dead to care.

Stiles was as bruised inside as he was outside. The steady, relentless penetration hurt, but Theo was being relatively careful and that did help. Stiles kept his head down and tried not to cry too much. Theo rewarded him with praise and gentle touches.  He didn’t knot Stiles, because he said he knew that would hurt too much in his condition, and Stiles was being so good. Instead, Theo helped him clean up afterwards and then wrapped up in a blanket with him on the couch, spooning and holding Stiles comfortingly as they watched movies for the next few hours.

Stiles lay with him, sometimes watching, sometimes drifting along the edge of sleep. He didn't feel good. He didn't feel bad. He felt nothing. He felt like everything was just a part of the movie on the screen and he was simply a silent and vaguely disinterested observer.

After a few repeats and a few unsubtle hints that the paddle was going to come out if Stiles didn't get his act together, Stiles learned to go through the motions of appeasing Theo. As surreal as everything else felt, pain still felt quite real and inviting more wasn't something he wanted to do. So, he dutifully got up and moved around from time to time, stretching his healing muscles and staying limber. When the cotton in his throat, or the strange, uncomfortable gnawing in his gut grew too intense, he even occasionally remembered to drink some of the now non-refrigerated water and protein shakes Theo continued to leave for him. He kept himself tidy and clean-shaven, the way Theo liked. If he heard Theo on the stairs, he'd go to his knees on the floor near the door and wait for him, so that Theo would know he was being good and not just laying around all day. 

Theo liked that. He'd ruffle Stiles' hair and pull him to his feet with a kiss, usually. Yet even though the werewolf seemed pleased, he was clearly not truly content with the current state of affairs. He found no fault to punish, but seemed to want something more from Stiles than what he was being given.  

Stiles wasn't sure what more Theo could possibly want from him, and this made him vaguely anxious, but even that emotion didn't penetrate much through the leaden blankness of his increasingly disassociated mental state. Silence stretched ever longer and deeper between them and Theo's dissatisfaction grew visibly day by day.

Stiles was not really catatonic, although it seemed that way at times. He responded to questions and commands, but he didn't offer anything of his own anymore. He didn't talk, didn't prattle or joke or expound on useless trivia. If Theo didn't address him directly, Stiles didn't speak at all, and that seemed to both concern and distress the werewolf more than anything else.

"Come on, Stiles, you've got to snap out of this funk, babe. It's no good for you," he finally said with a frustrated sigh when Stiles gave only shrugs and uninterested monosyllabic responses to Theo's attempt to engage him in a discussion about the merits and practicality of zombie speed in the movie they'd just watched.  

Stiles was curled into the corner of the couch and his body tensed a little at the displeasure in Theo's tone. He picked at the blanket laying against his thigh. "What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly.

Theo sighed again, flopping back against the couch and staring up at the ceiling. "I want you to quit acting like _you're_ the freaking zombie," he said finally, lifting his head and fixing Stiles with a concerned and reproving look.

Stiles let the blanket fall from him, crawling across the couch to Theo. He slid down to the floor, settling on his knees between Theo's legs and reaching for his fly. Usually, if Theo was unhappy, sex was the easy solution to restore his equanimity. Stiles could suck a dick on auto pilot by now; it took less effort than talking and it didn't require him to feel anything. 

Stiles tugged down Theo's zipper with rote, practiced ease, but gave a little start of surprise when Theo unexpectedly caught his hands, stilling him.

"No ... Stiles, you're missing the point," Theo said, holding Stiles' hands between his as he looked down at him. He sounded piqued and Stiles' body started to tighten, his heartbeat and breathing accelerating in a learned fear response. He'd messed up and he didn't know how.

Stiles dropped his eyes. "Then just tell me what you want, Theo," he repeated, feeling so tired. He'd do whatever the werewolf wanted if he'd just tell him, but he knew sometimes Theo wanted him to know the answers on his own, and he'd be punished if he didn't. It sucked. He wished Theo would just go away so he could curl up and sleep and pretend the world didn't exist. He'd like to sleep forever, if only the nightmares didn't live there.

 _What dreams may come ..._ the semi-familiar phrase sparked randomly through Stiles' brain, reminding him of Mrs. Keller valiantly trying to drag the class through Shakespeare back in junior year. Stiles had thought Hamlet was a pretty stupid dude all around, but those disembodied, half-remembered words came back to him now with a different kind of understanding. That was the thing that kept you back from the edge, wasn't it? The fear that death would not be an escape, but only a new and unfamiliar nightmare without end. Certainly, Stiles had done nothing to deserve any better. _What was that they said about the devil you knew?_

"I want Stiles back," Theo murmured unexpectedly, still holding Stiles' hands in one of his own while reaching out to stroke the human's cheek with the other. "I want you to ... I don't know, to argue with me, or something."

Stiles blinked at him. He understood what Theo was saying, and yet at the same time he didn't. It seemed contradictory somehow. "You punish me when I argue with you," he pointed out quietly. "Do you want to punish me, Theo?"

"No," Theo sighed again, dropping Stiles' hands and running his hand through his hair. "I want ... I want you to take a fucking _interest_ in life, is what I'm saying. God, Stiles, you're like a fucking robot."

Stiles let his hands settle in his lap, staying put where he was between Theo's knees. "What _life_ would that be, exactly? The next riveting installment of watching dust settle? Which corner will the spider build his web in next? I don't know, the suspense might be too much." There was a bitter tang to the soft words. Stiles felt a strange little spark of heat pulse through his chest; anger at Theo's ridiculous criticism briefly penetrating his emotional lethargy. For a second, that heat felt good. It made him feel _alive,_ but there was a well of darkness behind it, a surging mass of ugly, suffocating pain that would flood into the gap if he opened up and let himself start feeling anything.

Stiles closed his eyes and dropped his head, trying to keep the door shut, trying to hold onto his comfortable apathy. If Theo wanted to punish him, he'd now given him a reason to do so. _Great._ The thought sent him sinking back into numb acceptance. "I thought this is what you wanted, Theo," he murmured listlessly. "An obedient fucktoy? Are you telling me I'm being _too_ good?" There was a certain irony in that that could be amusing, but it wasn't funny if it was going to lead to Theo hurting him again. _Damned if you did, damned if you didn't._

Theo wasn't angry, though, in fact his expression actually softened. He petted Stiles' cheek again, urging Stiles to look back up at him and see that he wasn't upset. He carded his fingers lightly through the human's hair, rubbing his scalp gently. "No, babe. You've been great. I love that you want to be good for me. But ... but I love your fire, your spark too, you know? Your quick tongue and your dark humor. This," he gestured around them. "Isn't permanent. This isn't all there's going to be. You don't understand now, but you will, Stiles. Someday you will. I know this has been a hard transition, but I'm not trying to take your life away from you. I want you to share it with me. I want you to be free, _truly_ free _._ I don't want a fuck doll, Stiles, I want _you._ The _real_ you."

 _"No, you want the version of me that exists in your mind,"_ Stiles thought, but remained silent. Theo must have seen something behind his eyes though, because he tilted Stiles' chin up towards him.

"There. That. I know you want to say something, so say it. That's what I want," Theo prodded. "You're too damn quiet, Stiles."

 _That_ was not something Stiles had ever been accused of before, but still he hesitated until Theo's fingers tightened on his chin and he realized he'd probably get in more trouble for staying silent than for speaking. He could have lied, but that would have taken too much energy.

"You want some perfect version of me that you can love; you don't want _me_ ," Stiles lifted his eyes, holding Theo's gaze. "Trust me, nobody really wants _me._ " He hadn't realized how true that felt until this moment as words left his mouth.

Stiles had never faced the thought down before, but he'd always had this feeling like he was trying to live up to some image that everyone held of him, an image that made him worthy of being loved and not abandoned. Perhaps because he felt that if he failed, they might see through him like his mother had, and he was convinced no one would like what they saw.  Well, he'd already failed. He'd lost them all. There was nothing to hide now and no one to hide it from. He was an ugly, broken doll, no longer able to distinguish where pain ended and rage began, with nothing left inside but shadows. "You got yourself a bad bargain, Theo," he murmured, a dark, sardonic expression flittering briefly across his face.

Theo inhaled sharply, his irises flashing briefly gold as they did when he got excited.  He caught Stiles' hands again, pulling him up off the floor to straddle his lap. "You're wrong, Stiles," he murmured, holding his gaze with burning intensity. " _I_ want you. I want you more than you can imagine. You and I, we're _different_ ; we're special, _unlimited_. You're a triangle trying to fit into a narrow circle hole to make other people happy and you deserve _better_. I want everything you could never show anyone else, everything beautiful, powerful, untamed and utterly unique about you that they could never understand or appreciate." He kissed Stiles, the contact eager and passionate.  "It's what I've _always_ wanted."

Theo's passion was a little surprising. It melted through some of Stiles' numbness, making him feel ... _something,_ even if he wasn't sure what that something was. At least it wasn't bad. Stiles leaned into the kiss, returning it, surprised to gradually feel the slow, pleasurable burn of arousal starting to ignite in his stomach as they made out. Theo kissed him like he wanted to devour him. Like Stiles was precious and important and desirable.

It was beautiful in a twisted and utterly confusing way. Theo was so intense, so impassioned and adoring ... Stiles didn't know how to deal with it. He found himself starting to move, rocking slowly against Theo's clothed body as tingles of awareness and need began to prickle and squirm beneath his skin for the first time in days.

Unfortunately, as he'd feared, feeling one thing seemed to open the gates to feel other things, most of which, he didn't want to feel. A hot, jagged, splintering pain started up in his chest as he pressed into Theo, kissing his firm, welcoming lips and chasing the hot, seeking heat of his tongue around between their parted mouths. Stiles' throat felt tight and his eyes stung, tears silently tracing down his cheeks. His kisses became rougher and more needy. He practically pushed his tongue down Theo's throat, driving hard into the hungry pleasure the werewolf was inspiring in him because it was a much better thing to feel than the dark hopelessness that yawned like a black hole in his chest; like a void in his soul.

Stiles' aggressive action caught Theo off guard and he choked a little when the human's tongue breached him too deeply. The slight, surprised sound of mild distress was strangely magical, increasing the jagged splinters of desire forming inside Stiles' emotionally raw insides and fusing them into a hotter, darker need.

He bit down on Theo's tongue and the werewolf growled softly, although not in displeasure. Stiles felt as much as heard the sound, rumbling in the chest pressed to his own. He bit Theo's tongue again, viciously, hard enough to taste blood. He didn't know why that felt good, why they way Theo gasped softly into his mouth in a mixture of pain and pleasure was so delicious, but it was. Heat was flooding into every nerve ending in his body, making Stiles feel wired, filling him with a desire for things he'd never imagined wanting.

Theo's fangs dropped, elongated canines and sharp, biting points adding a thrill of danger to the increasingly wet and sloppy exchange of tongues, teeth, saliva and blood. Theo could have torn Stiles' mouth apart with those teeth, but the werewolf practiced restraint, nipping and nicking only lightly. Stiles had no such need for reserve and he let himself go, biting, sucking and thrusting as much as he pleased as they pushed back and forth against one another as if locked in some sort of mad, intense rush to be the first to completely map out the contours of the other's mouth. 

Stiles pushed Theo's tongue into the werewolf's own fangs, using him to cut himself. The coppery burst of blood tasted sweet somehow, or maybe that was the effect of the beautiful, sharp little whimper of pain that echoed into his mouth before Stiles swallowed it down, along with Theo's bleeding tongue, sucking on him aggressively until neither of them could breathe. Lights danced and flashed behind Stiles' eyes but he didn't fucking _care._

Theo cupped the sides of Stiles' head between his palms, finally forcefully pushing the human back for a minute and allowing them both to heave for oxygen. Theo's glazed eyes were glued to Stiles' mouth where it hung open, flushed, bitten lips painted messily with blood as he gasped for air. Stiles' tongue darted out automatically, licking at the wetness on his lower lip and Theo's eyes dilated, his body shuddering as if he were practically ready to come in his pants.

He leaned close, licking his own blood jealously from Stiles' mouth and ending up just smearing more of it around on his skin. " _Fuck,_ Stiles..." he panted. "You're _so_ fucking perfect."

Stiles pushed into him again with a desperate growl that was part whine. He didn't want Theo to _talk._ He didn't want Theo _able_ to talk. He bit Theo's lower lip hard, teasing, punishing, he didn't know. Stiles was still crying, but he didn't know why and he didn't feel the tears. He only felt Theo's tongue and teeth and blood in his mouth, and the way the werewolf's body bowed and arched under him. That was all he wanted to feel. Anything else was too complex, too unbearable.

Theo swore breathlessly into the savage kiss, his hands finding Stiles' hips and hanging on is if seeking purchase in a storm. His fingers were practically trembling as he pulled Stiles down against his lap in urgent, grinding little motions, his body straining, trapped by the clothing he was still wearing.

Stiles tugged at Theo's shirt, pushing his hands up underneath it and finding the hard, muscular planes of his stomach. Theo's skin was warm and smooth and gave wonderfully under his fingernails.

Theo growled in his throat, eyes flashing again, his hips stuttering almost frantically up against Stiles' spread body.

Stiles ground down against him breathlessly, his gut fluttering, his body aching to be filled, to just _feel_ until nothing else existed. He was suddenly, unreasonably annoyed by the layers of clothing between them. 

"Get ... your ... fucking ... clothes off!" he hissed around breathless, brutal kisses. "And give me your _fucking_ cock, you _fucking_ narcissistic douche bag." His heart was thundering, adrenaline rushing through his system. It felt amazingly good to speak so freely. It gave him a sensation of power and control that had been badly lacking from his life, and Theo's reaction was equally satisfying. The werewolf was literally panting, he was so turned on.

Theo obeyed quickly. Pushing Stiles roughly off his lap and onto the couch, he rose only long enough to tear his clothes off, then he was back, crawling over Stiles with a look in his eyes like he wanted to eat him alive. His hard, heavy cock dug into Stiles' stomach and chafed against Stiles' own erect dick, hot flesh gliding and catching and smacking into each other. 

Stiles sprawled on his back, opening his legs and hooking his heels around the backs of Theo's thighs as the werewolf crushed down against him. Theo was shorter than Stiles, but his slender, compact form was powerfully built. He was all smooth planes of hard, unyielding muscle and maddeningly well defined angles. He was a giant, flaming, _asshole,_ but the weight of his body pressing down into Stiles right now felt _so_ good.

Stiles had never really understood the term _hate sex_ before, because it had seemed like such a contradiction, until now. He _did_ hate Theo. He didn't love him. He would _never_ love him, but he _wanted_ him. Fuck, right now he _needed_ him. There was something terribly pure, intense and breathtaking about the bright, brilliant kind of hatred he felt. It was blind, intense and _hungry._ He didn't understand it at all, but he felt it to his core. Maybe in some ways then, it wasn't all that different from love after all. Maybe the fact that it felt that way meant Theo was right about him. Maybe right now he didn't give a fucking damn. No one was here to judge him. Anyone who would have cared was already lost to him. There was only Theo, who was easily ten times as screwed up as he was. So what the hell?

Theo pushed his fingers into Stiles' mouth. "Get them wet," Theo ordered and Stiles sucked obligingly, slobbering generous quantities of bloody spit onto the digits before they were withdrawn and shoved unceremoniously into his ass. It was a lousy substitute for lube, but Stiles didn't really give a fuck at this point. He hissed, pushing into the pain, taking Theo's fingers deep and squeezing like he wanted to crush them.

Theo cursed and yanked them free, replacing them a moment later with his dick. He pushed into Stiles urgently, driving hard and fast like getting inside his body was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Stiles' back arched, his legs tightening around Theo's hips and his arms going around his body. It fucking _hurt,_ but the hungry, burning need in his gut only flared hotter. His fingernails dug into Theo's back, raking harshly across skin as he ground himself upwards against Theo's body, his cock jabbing urgently, almost desperately into the other boy's stomach.

Theo hissed, swearing and gasping as Stiles clawed his back, raising bloody welts across his shoulders and down his sides as he drove into the body under him with brutal, desperate force.

Theo fucked him savagely and Stiles cried out, his neck arching against the couch as the werewolf nailed his prostate over and over. The closeness of their bodies trapped his own dick tightly between their jostling, heaving stomachs and it was so intense Stiles thought he was going to explode. Stiles grabbed at Theo's hips, clawing and scratching and feeling flesh gather under his fingernails as he tugged at him in a wild, vicious frenzy.

" _Fuck!_ " Theo groaned in pained pleasure as Stiles' hands raked up his sides again. Stiles didn't have claws, but he was doing plenty of damage with normal fingernails. Theo's werewolf healing meant the marks were probably disappearing almost as fast as they were laid, but that didn't mean he didn't feel them. The ephemeral nature of the damage he could inflict only drove Stiles to greater violence. These were not just passion scratches, Stiles was seriously _trying_ to hurt Theo. He clawed until he felt furrows under his shaking fingers and blood ran down the other boy's sides.

Theo groaned and hissed, crying out when Stiles caught him by surprise or cut particularly deep, and _God_ did Stiles _live_ for that sound. He wanted Theo to scream. He wanted Theo to _hurt._

Theo lurched forward, his forehead pressing into Stiles' shoulder as he strained to bury every possible inch of himself within the boy's tight, pulsing heat. That put his shoulder was near Stiles' mouth and Stiles bit down on it, _hard._ Theo gave a little cry, hips stuttering and jerking almost helplessly. Stiles turned his head, finding the more tender skin at the base of Theo's neck and biting down again until he tasted blood. His heart was pounding so fast he could feel it throbbing in his temples and at every point where his and Theo's heaving bodies connected: in his cock, in his ass, in his fingers, lips and even his teeth. He would have said he could feel it in his soul, if he'd been sure he still had one.

Theo's claws raked down Stiles' sides, drawing bloody lines in their wake. Then they dug into the couch instead, gripping and tearing into it as he obviously knew he could not tear into Stiles without killing him. It was a testament to how out of control Theo must feel that he didn't trust himself to put his claws on Stiles again, but held onto the couch on either side of him instead, grunting and slamming down against the human as hard as was physically possible while Stiles willfully mauled him.

Stiles wouldn't let go of his neck once he had it. He sucked and tugged, lapping at Theo's blood and viciously re-tearing the wound with his teeth every time it healed, until Theo's breath was coming so harsh and ragged he was practically sobbing against Stiles.  

Stiles could barely breathe, the thick, choking anger in his chest and the satisfaction of feeling Theo's flesh give making arousal sear through him like the heat of the sun as the werewolf's dick pounded into his ass with punishing, unbearable force. He was going at the human so hard it was giving Stiles friction burns and bruises in very sensitive areas. Stiles wasn't sure if they were really fucking, or simply trying to tear one another apart. He was fine with the later. He'd like to tear Theo apart. He really would. He'd never wished he was a werewolf quite so fervently before.

Stiles was busily trying to find out just how deeply he _could_ actually bite into Theo's throat even with human teeth when Theo finally seemed to have enough of it. He lifted his body, pulling his neck away from Stiles. Catching both of the human's clawing hands, he pinned them to the couch by Stiles' head. Theo's face was flushed, his eyes glazed and his expression totally wrecked. He clearly wasn't upset, just perilously close to climax.

Grinding Stiles' wrists into the couch hard enough to make his bones creak, Theo pinned Stiles down, fixing him with an intense, burning gaze, wolf eyes a hot, possessive gold in his otherwise human face. One foot slipping to the floor for purchase and leverage, he rabbited his hips into Stiles, slapping into his thighs hard enough to smart and to make each rapid jerk reverberate through both of them.

His gaze never wavered, like he was devouring Stiles with his eyes as he drove himself to completion inside him. Theo's lips were parted, breath rasping harshly between them and his expression was glazed, as if he were looking at the most erotic thing on earth. Stiles was too lost in the whirl of sensation and the heat of the moment to be aware of what kind of picture he made, with his face flushed and his hair going everywhere, his eyes wild and his mouth ringed with blood as he cried out, writhing with the unbearable pleasure-pain of how thoroughly and brutally he was being fucked. He looked feral.

Theo spilled inside him with a cry, his body jerking and shuddering wildly and without finesse in helpless spasms of intense ecstasy.

Stiles watched it wash over him, his own gut leaping and churning in response, his cock jerking in agonized pulses as he teetered on the brink of orgasm.

" _Fuck!_ " Theo groaned. _"Fuck!"_ Mouth hanging open as if in a silent scream, he hunched forward, leaning down hard onto Stiles' arms, his hips fumbling and jerking about unsteadily. His knot was swelling up fast and he seemed to be caught in a rigor of pleasure so intense it was physically overwhelming him.

He popped his knot in and out of Stiles' body, groaning and tensing at each agonizingly pleasurable motion. Stiles' hole was stretched and sloppy with cum by this point, but Theo's knot was large and it was biologically designed to prevent removal, not to be used for penetration. It caught and tugged hard at Stiles' rim on each pass. Usually Theo let it settle once it was this swollen, but he was too worked up and he forced Stiles' body to keep letting him punch it in and out.

Being forcibly fucked with Theo's knot was unimaginably painful and intense and Stiles shuddered hard, crying out and jerking against the couch cushions as his own climax tore free and he came in hot pulses across his stomach and chest.  Stiles' thighs were slick and shaking. Theo wouldn't stop knot-fucking him and Stiles writhed harder, shivering with pleasure and bucking and crying out against the painful overstimulation. Theo crossed his wrists above his head, pinning them down with one hand and freeing his other to grab Stiles' still throbbing dick. He rubbed him hard and fast. His mouth found Stiles' shoulder and he bit down, fangs puncturing his skin. The combined sensations sent Stiles into a swift, convulsive second orgasm that he would frankly not have thought possible if it hadn't happened.

Stiles screamed helplessly, bucking in Theo's grip until the werewolf finally released his shoulder, buried his knot for good and collapsed on top of him, both of them gasping for breath and shaking. Theo curled his arms around Stiles' head like a shield, his forehead resting against the side of the human's neck and Stiles draped his arms wearily around Theo's heaving back. They lay there like that for a little while, shuddering through the tingling aftershocks and fading lurches of pleasure together. 

Stiles tried to remember how to breathe. His leg muscles quivered where they were wrapped around Theo, the werewolf's knot a hard, throbbing, familiar sensation inside his now incredibly sore body. His passage felt burned and extremely sensitive from all the friction. Each fluttering little aftershock that skittered through him made him tense around the thick intrusion, increasing the pleasurable intensity of the sensation, while at the same time making Theo gasp raggedly against his skin. It was nice to know at least that he wasn't the only one who felt like he'd been side-swiped by the mack-truck version of climax. _Shit,_ that had been intense.

Theo moved his head a little, licking and lapping at the wound he'd bitten into Stiles' shoulder, cleaning it gently with his tongue and kissing the torn flesh until it stopped bleeding. Stiles groaned softly, the sensations making him shiver softly, his body fluttering and clenching around Theo's knot even more.

Stiles blinked slowly, fingers lightly skating up and down Theo's lightly shuddering back. He licked gummy lips and frowned a little, realizing with a thread of disgust that he was still sticky with Theo's drying blood. _Oh. Wow. **Gross**._ He didn't know why that had all felt so incredibly good when he was doing it, but decided not to think about it too much right now. He probably wouldn't like the answers anyway.

Theo lifted his head after a few minutes, kissing Stiles softly with equally bloodstained lips. He shifted his hips lightly, as if just enjoying the sensation of being knotted up tight inside the body beneath him. Stiles exhaled shakily into the kiss, not even trying to pretend that he didn't like the sensation too.

"I hate you," he murmured against Theo's jaw, his voice hoarse and trembling with emotion that could easily have been put into a different sentiment.

Theo smiled down at him, his gaze dark, intense and contented. "I know, babe. I know."

++++++++++

Things got a little better after that, or worse, depending on how you looked at it. Stiles was unable to find further refuge in apathy, but as the mutual violence of their sex life increased, he found a certain balance in that. Theo still hurt him, still punished him when the fancy struck, but Stiles was learning to navigate the strange playing field Theo created, learning to walk the line between obedience and allowable savagery.

His mind started falling into unconscious, calculating patterns of thinking that he didn't recognize as patterns because the imprint was just there, in his mind, like a memory. Like a version of him that was strong enough to survive and experienced enough to know how to turn the chaos of pain and rage into something that could sustain you, instead of destroy you.

Truth could be an ugly thing. The truth was, there was a kind of control and power in being able to cause pain and not just receive it. The truth was that being able to hurt Theo in some way, _any way_ , offered Stiles a release valve, turning helplessness into rage, and rage into a dark, intense kind of pleasure. Stiles looked forward to Theo coming now, he truly did. He looked forward to getting his hands on him, to pulling his body close and seeing how much damage he could inflict before pleasure swallowed them both.

Theo never stopped him. He never punished Stiles for this type of violence. Stiles' wildness clearly excitedthe werewolf. Theo seemed downright _pleased_ by the turn things had taken, and that was the only small thing that gave Stiles pause. Because somewhere inside, he knew that Theo being happy was not a good thing. The wolf was winning, somehow, but he lacked the perspective to understand how. He was too far down the rabbit hole by now, and all he could see was darkness.

Another factor that made Stiles' life a little better was that Theo seemed to decide he had earned the right to a slightly less tedious existence.  He brought Stiles a Nintendo 3DS and an iPad loaded with games to keep him entertained. No wifi, of course, Stiles checked that immediately. All the games were off-line only, but having something to do with his long, useless days was an intense relief. Since Theo still apparently did not trust Stiles with electricity, he gave him a couple of battery bricks instead for keeping the devices charged, which he swapped out and charged up elsewhere between visits.

Stiles wasn't sure if it was just Theo's taste in gaming, or if there was some kind of subliminal thing going on, but almost all the games were of a pretty dark and violent bent. Not that that bothered him at all. This was just fake, just pixels on a screen, not like when he was opening Theo's shoulder up with his teeth or scratching the skin off his back. Not that satisfying, but a nice distraction.

He learned a few other things from the devices as well. He learned that he must be far enough underground or in a remote enough area that there were no other errant wifi signals to even pick up and register, he learned that, if the devices' date and time settings were correct, then he had been Theo's prisoner for months. He was surprised. It felt like years.

Stiles' life was perhaps better, but it would still be a far cry to say he was at all _happy._  Theo remarked on that one day.

"You know, babe, you don't smile very much," he observed as he tied Stiles' wrists to opposite legs of the footstool, pinning the human down, spread-eagle on his back. He casually grabbed Stiles' legs and dragged him forward until his body was pulled taut and hips were balanced on the edge, legs splayed on either side of Theo's body. He handled Stiles' body like it belonged to him, because they both knew it did.

Stiles tugged at the ropes around his wrists, giving Theo a sour look. "Well you're certainly not giving me much to smile about, are you?" he complained. Theo knew he hated this. Knew he hated being tied down and unable to respond or get his hands on Theo when they had sex. Of course Theo knew he hated it, which was exactly why he often took Stiles like this, his hands bound down, his hips balanced on the edge of the footstool at the perfect height for Theo to just hold his legs open and fuck and fuck him until Stiles was writhing and cursing and begging to cum.

Theo grinned, giving the inside of his thigh a little slap. "Well, that's where you'd be wrong. I intend to give you a _lot_ to smile about." There was something teasing and vaguely malicious in the werewolf's gaze that gave Stiles pause. 

"Theo ... what are you ... ?"

Theo didn't answer, but Stiles found out soon enough when the werewolf leaned over him and started tickling his fingers down Stiles' exposed sides. Not caressing. _Tickling._ Stiles barked an incredulous, uncomfortable laugh that was mostly a snort, his body squirming around a little on the footstool.

"What the hell? Theo, cut it out! What are you doing?" he protested, the tickling sensations increasing, making his body twitch and squirm in a wholly different kind of way than usual.

"Making you smile," Theo challenged with a wickedly innocent grin as he brushed rapid, feather light wiggling fingers across the underside of Stiles' armpits.

Stiles convulsed, trying to close his legs around Theo, trying to twist away from the incredibly ticklish sensations and the tremors they sent running through him. Theo pressed harder and he wiggled, his stomach quivering. He did smile, he couldn't help it, it was some kind of weird, biologically programmed action, same as the uncomfortable, quivering laugh that escaped him as Theo relentlessly tickled back down his sides, pinching and teasing with quick, clever fingers.

"O-Oh my God! Stop it! Stop! Stop!" Stiles stuttered, laughing and struggling helplessly as Theo teased him. "Mission accomplished, okay? Stop! Seriously, Theo, stop!"

Of course Theo didn't. He kept pressing, kept tickling and tormenting, finding all of Stiles' most sensitive areas until Stiles couldn't breathe he was laughing so hard, tears running down his flushed face. It was a unique kind of helplessness, and Stiles hated it. He hated it passionately.

"Laughter is good for you, Stiles. Releases all kind of good endorphins, or so they told us in biology class," Theo teased.  

Stiles did not appreciate the reminder that Theo was still going to class at _his_ school, with _his_ friends, in the life he'd taken away from Stiles. The anger moved inside him, hot and dark, almost like a second presence with whom he shared his body. It couldn't get too much of a toe hold just now though, not when he was laughing so hard he was almost peeing himself.

His sides and lungs hurt from the convulsive laughter by the time Theo finally stopped, but he grudgingly supposed there probably was something to that endorphins thing, because he did feel strangely floaty and almost high afterwards.

Theo spread Stiles' legs, but then surprised Stiles a second time by going down on him. Stiles arched at the unexpected, amazing sensation of Theo's hot mouth sliding down around his dick. Theo had never given him oral before, and it was intensely pleasurable. Already very keyed up, Stiles didn't last long. Theo pulled him deep when he came and swallowed him down, proving either natural aptitude, or a hitherto for unknown level of skill at the task.

When Stiles was limp and boneless with afterglow, _then_ Theo finally hiked up his knees and fucked him, slow and steady at first, then gradually harder, coaxing Stiles' body through a second shuddering orgasm before he was done.

Afterwards, as they shared the shower, chasing soap off one another with their hands, Stiles gave Theo a speculative look, his mind still caught on what he'd said earlier. He'd been settling into his new normal here, with Theo, but the mention of school, the memory of another life had an unexpected twinge of longing twisting in his gut, mingled with a sense of re-kindled worry. He felt like he'd been trapped in a bubble here, and it had seemed like time simply didn't pass. But it did, in the outside world. Things were happening, life was going on and people were still in danger. People he cared about, even if they were lost to him. He had absolutely no idea what was going on in the outside world, with the pack, the Doctors, or any of it, and that worried him.

"Theo... " he finally ventured to ask. "How is everybody? Everybody ... else?"

He felt Theo stiffen against him and knew instantly he shouldn't have asked, but he'd had to, he really did, because he felt like he was losing even the memory of them somehow, like it was all a dream.

"You know you're not supposed to think about outside, Stiles," Theo murmured reprovingly against his neck, a hard edge in his tone. "Nothing exists for you but you and me. You don't need anything else."

"I know," Stiles murmured, letting his head drop. "I'm sorry."

Theo sighed and kissed the back of his neck under the shower spray. He turned and twisted the water off. "I know, babe. But you know what I have to do."

Stiles nodded again. He did. "How do you want me?" he asked, scared, but not too scared. Theo wasn't seriously angry, he could tell. This would hurt, but Stiles had had worse.

Theo had him bend over and hold onto the edge of the tub while he paddled him rosy with the bath brush. By the time they were done, Stiles' ass was stinging and Theo was so aroused that he had to fuck him again. Punishing Stiles always made him hot.

Stiles was pliant and obedient afterwards, cuddling with Theo under the shower when he finally turned it back on to finish their wash up. Theo played with his nipples as he soaped him down and Stiles lightly ground his throbbing ass back into Theo's hips, letting him feel the heat he'd put there. Stiles was learning when to push and when to hold, when he could fuck Theo up, and when he needed to be docile and compliant. He was learning a lot of things, and someday, he'd teach Theo a few.

++++++++++

It was raining outside, the day everything truly went to hell. Stiles could tell nothing of the weather from his basement room, of course. He only knew about the rain because the jacket Theo was wearing was wet, splattered with a mixture of rain drops and drying blood. The jacket was his first clue that something was wrong, very wrong. It was too big for Theo and not his normal style. Stiles recognized the familiar cut instantly, of course. It was a Beacon Hills police department jacket. His brows immediately furrowed, trying to figure out what that was about.

Theo had been distracted and barely around for over a week. Not like Stiles missed him or anything ... well, not _much_. He _had_ certainly been wondering what he was up to. Whatever it was had left Theo irritable and on edge, and Stiles had learned quite painfully to keep his curiosity to himself.

Now though, Theo was practically glowing. He was brimming with nervous energy, a strange sense of power and excitement rolling off of him in almost palpable waves. If Stiles didn't know about werewolf metabolisms, he would have thought Theo was high as a kite.

"Congratulate me, babe, I've had a big day." Theo tossed the plastic grocery bags of take-out and beer he was carrying onto the couch carelessly. The intense, hungry way his eyes fixed on Stiles said that food was _not_ the first thing on his agenda.  "And we're gonna celebrate."

"Congratulations," Stiles said dryly, eyeing Theo suspiciously as he approached. "What'd you do? Pass Calcul..." Stiles stopped dead, freezing mid-word as Theo reached him and he was suddenly slapped in the face by the horrible, achingly familiarscent clinging to the jacket despite the influence of the blood and the rain.

Stiles' head spun, his knees literally going weak. He stumbled and had to grab onto the arm of the couch for balance as the smell of his father's aftershave triggered a painful flood of feelings and sensations rushing into his chest.

John Stilinski was the type to find something he liked and stick with it. He had been wearing the same brand of aftershave Stiles' entire life. It was the scent Stiles had smelt when his father carried him to bed, when he held Stiles' little hands and tried to guide him through throwing a ball, when he comforted Stiles after falling out of a tree, or when he held him after Claudia died and they both cried quietly in one another's embrace. It was a scent that was deeply, irrevocably linked to Stiles' concepts of _love, safety_ and _home._ The unbearable, heart-sick, longing _need_ it kicked off in him was so fierce, it took his breath away.

Other people could wear the same brand, but it didn't smell the same on them. Stiles knew his father's scent, and this was unmistakably it. The scent he smelled every time the older man hugged him. The scent he now smelled, clinging to a blood soaked jacket worn by a grinning psychopath.

Stiles couldn't breathe. He _literally_ couldn't breathe, his lungs seizing, like he'd been sucker punched.

"Stiles? Stiles!" Theo gave him a sharp little shake. He was undoubtedly able to hear the way the human's heart had started hammering and smell the wild change in his bio-chemical signature, but Theo had the gall to keep smiling at him, something dark and perhaps malicious teasing at the edges of his jubilation and adding a suggestion of cruelty to his handsome features.

Stiles finally managed to inhale, air coming in a painful, gulping rush that did nothing to help the spinning in his head. Dark, icy claws dug upward inside his chest, pushing their way out through the spreading cracks opening up like fault lines in his soul under the pressure of his own dread and the horrible certainty overtaking him.

He grabbed the lapels of the soiled jacket Theo was wearing, half to support himself and half to jerk the werewolf to him. "What did you _do?"_ he demanded, his voice harsh and cracking. "Theo, what the hell did you do?!"

Theo caught his wrists, holding Stiles against him. His grip was unusually strong, almost crushing Stiles, as if the werewolf didn't quite know his own strength. He smirked at Stiles, his face alight with an expression of dark euphoria and even darker promise. "I won," he responded simply, flashing his eyes at Stiles. Flashing burning, red, _alpha_ eyes _._

Stiles felt like he'd been kicked in the chest for a second time. He stared at Theo in horror, sick with a dizzy, spinning disbelief. _This couldn't be happening. It **couldn't** be happening!_ His knees buckled in earnest this time, Theo's grip on his arms all that kept him upright. The werewolf eased him down to his knees, still holding his wrists, still looking at him with those glowing red eyes that didn't belong to him, _shouldn't_ belong to him, _couldn't_ belong to him. 

"I'm your Alpha, now, Stiles," Theo murmured, a mixture of pride and possession mingling in his tone.

Stiles shook his head, tears he was only barely aware of tracking down his face as he struggled for air, struggled to make the world make sense again. "Y-you can't ... you _couldn't_ have ..." he gasped raggedly, unable to finish any of his thoughts but still shaking his head in denial. "Scott ... he's not ... you wouldn't be able to ... you're not his beta, you couldn't ..." Understanding hit him with sudden, gut wrenching force, his mind filling in the picture for him with sudden, unhelpful clarity. _Oh God, how had he not seen this sooner?_

"Liam," Stiles croaked, his body sagging in Theo's grip. "You got Liam to kill Scott." There wasn't enough oxygen in the entire world. The room was tinged yellow and grey.  "Had to be something about Hayden, right? That's the only thing ..." Stiles shook his head, throat closing off. "Poor, _stupid, stupid_ kid. Then you killed him."

Theo smiled approvingly, Still holding Stiles' limp wrists, but using the back of one hand to wipe at the tears streaming down his face. "I knew you'd get it, Stiles. You always figure things out."

"Is that why you took me?" Stiles whispered. His lips felt tingly and numb, but a strange, cold, devouring fire had started burning in his chest, the intensity of it slowly forcing him to breathe again and not black out. "So I wouldn't get in your way?"

"The Doctors took you, because you were a likely looking test subject who stuck your nose where it didn't belong at the wrong place and the wrong time," Theo corrected. "I took you from them, because I didn't want you to die. I wanted you to be ready, to be ready for _this_. We're going to have our own pack, Stiles, you and me, and nothing's going to be able to stop us. You don't see it yet, but this is our moment, babe."

"Stop calling me that!" Stiles snapped, his arms tensing in Theo's grasp as he fixed him with a snapping, tear-filled glare. "I am not your _babe,_ I am not your lover, or your fucking _bitch._ I am your fucking _prisoner_ and you are fucking _insane!_ " His voice trembled with rage. "How did you think this was going to end? You kill my friends and I ride off into the sunset with you while you play king of the castle? Well, you can find yourself another fucking queen to sit at your feet and adore you, Theo, because that isn't happening!" 

Theo backhanded Stiles and the world exploded in sparks and colors, the werewolf's grip on Stiles' right arm only just keeping the human upright on his knees.

"I guess you're not quite ready yet," Theo told him, voice hard. "But it's okay, Stiles. Because we have time. We have all the time in the world, now."

Stiles spit blood onto the ground. "What about ... what about my dad, Theo?" he asked, eyes hard but voice quavering slightly. "Why ... why him?" It wasn't happenstance that Theo had come here wearing his father's bloody jacket. He had to have done it intentionally. He wanted Stiles to _know._

Theo gave a small shrug. "He got in the way, Stiles. Kept asking too many damn questions about Donovan, and you; he just wouldn't let it go. Wouldn't stop looking for you." He shook his head. "I'm afraid a lot of your former pack decided to be troublesome and get in the way. I didn't want it that way. I wanted them with us, all of them. I gave them that chance, more than once, but they just wouldn't take it."

Stiles had started trembling, a hot, hard, searing rage bubbling up from the depths of his stomach and clawing it's way outward through his chest and along his throat. He swallowed convulsively, but it did nothing to ease the building strain or clear the growing haze of red from his vision.

Theo mistook the reason for Stiles' shaking. He rubbed the inside of the human's bruised wrist almost gently with his thumb. "Maybe it's for the best. I wanted them all, but if I can have only one, I'd rather it be you, and you'll be better off now, without them. Believe it or not, Stiles, one day you'll thankme. You don't understand it yet, but you're _free._ "

" _Free_?" Stiles choked on the word, somewhere between a bitter sob and a harsh laugh.

Theo nodded. "You have to let go of the things holding you back before you can move forward. I had to kill my family before I was really free, but I wouldn't make you do that, Stiles. I told you, I'll take care of you, make it easier for you. There is nothing holding you back now. You can be what you were _meant_ to be." Theo's voice was disturbingly passionate and earnest.

"What I'm _meant_ to..." Stiles shook his head, every breath feeling superheated. A dark fire of hatred and rage clouded his thoughts. He was hyper aware of Theo's tight grip on his arm, of the werewolf's pulse against his skin, of the blood moving beneath his veins. He wanted to spill it. He wanted to dig into Theo's chest with his fingers and pull out his beating heart. He wanted to feed it to Theo while he _screamed._ He wanted to _feed_ on his pain until there was nothing left of the traitorous, beautiful, murdering son of a bitch.

"And what exactly would _that_ be, Theo?" he demanded, his voice quiet, shaking. "Your fucking concubine victory prize?"

Theo smiled at him, holding him with his blood red eyes. "Well, I'm not saying you aren't," he smiled cruelly, showing a mouthful of fangs.  "But you _know_ what I mean, Stiles. You're not this dumb. You'd know, if you wanted to know."

Stiles drew in a deep breath, and it felt like everything around him went very calm, because Theo was right. He did know. Maybe, he'd always known. What Theo was doing, why he was pushing him in the directions he was pushing him, feeding his anger and rage and despair, rewarding him for inhumanity.

"You know I was _possessed_ , right? And it's _gone,"_ he rasped through clenched teeth. It was the truth, but it felt like a lie, because even as he said it, Stiles could feel the familiar pressure in his chest and the destroying hunger burning in his veins.

Theo crouched down in front of him, using Stiles' arm to pull him in close. "The Nogitsune is gone, but the void remains. I don't want _it,_ I want _you._ The darkness was always there, Stiles," Theo whispered, looking powerful and compelling; a beautiful Lucifer waiting just outside the gates of Eden. "Why do you think it chose you?"

Stiles' breathing slowed, his heart pounding slowly, deliberately. A strange, deadly calm settled over his rattled, weakened frame. _"He's trying to kill me."_ He heard again his mother's voice in his head, but it didn't hurt now. It just made sense. He hadn't been, of course, not then, but her illness must have given her a kind of odd clarity, a premonition perhaps. He'd always known, hadn't he? Of course he had. He'd tried so hard to be something else, to be someone who could be loved. He'd tried for his father, for Scott, for the rest of the pack ... but they were gone now. They had been taken from him, the only things in this world he'd been unwilling to lose. Theo had _taken_ them. Theo, who was crouching there, smiling at him, telling him to embrace his inner darkness.

If Theo wanted the void so much, maybe Stiles should let him have it. Yes. Maybe that was _exactly_ what Theo deserved.

Slowly, Stiles raised dark, dark eyes to meet Theo's glowing ones. Slowly, he smiled.  "Maybe because it saw something it recognized." His gaze had gone flat, almost mocking. "Is that what you saw too, Theo? Do you look into the abyss and see yourself? Or are you just another whiny little bitch who thinks that red eyes make you something special?"

Theo's smile hooked wider. "Why don't you try me and find out." He brushed Stiles' lower lip with his thumb and then rose back to his feet. He was obviously seriously aroused. He tugged on Stiles' wrist, pulling him meaningfully towards his crotch.

"Come, Stiles. I'm in a really fucking good mood right now, so I'm going to pretend you _haven't_ been a total brat that I ought to bend over the couch and cane for an hour, and you're going to help your new Alpha celebrate. Come on, show me what a good little bitch you are for me."  Theo snapped his fingers by Stiles' head, like he was a trained dog being told to perform.

Stiles went to him on his knees, pushing open the front of the BHPD jacket Theo was wearing to get at his fly. The soft, fading scent of his father fed the dark knot of fury expanding inside him.  When Stiles got a look at the waist of Theo's jeans, his anger only deepened. Theo was wearing Kira's sword belt like a fucking trophy.

Stiles ran surprisingly steady hands down Theo's stomach, fingers slipping to undo the buckle of the belt, that, like so much else he'd taken, did not belong to him. It _was_ a trophy, Stiles realized as he unlatched the buckle and undid Theo's fly, tugging his pants down to his hips and freeing his erection.

The belt, the jacket, Scott's alpha eyes ... Theo had intentionally come to Stiles decked in trophies, in the spoils of his kills. He probably had mementos from all of them somewhere. He was showing off. He wanted to fuck Stiles while figuratively and literally wearing the blood of the human's previous pack. Wanted Stiles to have to service him, knowing he'd killed everyone he ever loved. He'd taken something from all of them, and this was what he'd take from Stiles. Because whatever Theo said, whatever else he wanted or thought he felt, ultimately, Stiles knew he _was_ just one more prize for Theo. Something shiny and pleasurable that he'd plucked from the ruins of the destruction he'd wrought. Something he could _own_.  

Stiles leaned forward, nuzzling Theo's stiff cock without prompting. The werewolf was already fully erect and leaking precum. Either killing really turned him on, or he was getting one hell of a buzz from his new alpha powers. Maybe both.

Stiles sucked the hard flesh into his mouth, working Theo with his tongue. Theo exhaled appreciatively and tangled his fingers in Stiles' hair, pulling his head down and pushing into him harder.

Stiles didn't resist, taking Theo down his throat and swallowing around him. His hands slid up and down Theo's thighs and settled at his hips, caressing back and forth along the top of his pants.

Theo was too busy being distracted by the way Stiles was humming and swallowing around the dick gripped tightly in his throat to notice what Stiles was doing with his hands.

Stiles bobbed his head hard, fucking Theo roughly into his throat. Theo groaned, wavering on his feet a little, lost in the intense sensation and unaware that Stiles had gripped the buckle of Kira's belt and was working it slowly loose from his belt loops.

Stiles knew the sword only worked for Kira. The belt wouldn't turn into a blade for him anymore than it would for Theo, but it was sturdy metal and infused with kitsune magic. He didn't know if that would make a difference, but he intended to wrap it around Theo's lying throat and find out just how close he could get to strangling him or breaking his neck before the werewolf killed him.

Theo was very close, it wasn't hard to push him over the edge. He came with a soft cry, gripping Stiles' hair and spilling down his throat. Stiles sucked him down insistently, intensifying the pleasure and using Theo's already brimming and over-excited state against him. He'd learned Theo's buttons well by now, and he pushed them hard, triggering the werewolf to knot even though Theo never usually did that during oral.

"Ahh, son of _aaa_!" Theo gasped, reeling as if punched by the unexpected shock of pleasure. It always hit him hard if he'd not meant to knot, Stiles knew and was counting on that. He knew from experience that Theo's most vulnerable and helpless moments would be the few seconds it took for his knot to form and the few seconds immediately after when he was cumming so hard he was seeing stars. That was the window he had, and he took it.

Yanking his mouth free before the knot could get stuck behind his teeth, he shoved Theo backwards, hard, sending him sprawling onto his back on the floor and whipping the belt the rest of the way free. Theo shouted in surprise and in pain, Stiles' teeth had gotten him pretty good on the way down. Stiles tasted blood mixed with the cum in his mouth, and it was a sweet, sweet flavor.

Stiles was on top of the werewolf in a heartbeat. Theo was still heaving, coming in intense spurts as he struggled to sort himself out and respond to what was happening. Stiles didn't intend to give him the chance. He brought the belt up, meaning to try to get it around Theo's throat, but something strange happened. He felt the metal twitch and respond under his fingers. He felt a tingle of connection, like some part of his mind knew what to do with it.

He was not a kitsune, and he was no longer possessed by one ... but he _had_ been. Something inside him remembered the pathways, the intricate curl of mental pattern that sent life energy surging into the metal beneath his fingers. He didn't have the right kind of life energy, or nearly enough magic to actually bring out the sword, but _something_ certainly happened. As if responding to either his desperation, or his utter, consuming desire to _kill,_ the parts of the belt he was touching hardened in his hands, segments of sword forming like short, jagged knives. The connecting sections between them broke, leaving him holding a short, ragged length of blade in each hand. Dark energy crackled, biting and burning as it washed over his fingers and up his arms. It hurt, and the sharp edges of the shards in his hand cut into Stiles' flesh, but he didn't care.

He drove them into Theo's chest in a frenzy, not caring how much it sliced up his hands in the process. The short blade shards weren't long enough to reach the werewolf's heart, and Stiles wasn't sure whether it would kill him even if it did, but he was damn well going to try. Theo had finally gotten his arms up now and he grabbed at Stiles, catching one of his swinging wrists. Stiles switched tactics, slashing at Theo's throat with his free hand.  He slit the werewolf from ear to ear and blood spurted everywhere. Stiles blinked and spluttered, trying to get it out of his eyes, tasting it in his mouth and down his throat.

Theo gasped and gurgled, clutching at his throat to protect it from further swings, blood pulsing between his fingers as his body struggled to seal off and heal the damage. He was still shaking beneath Stiles, still arching and cumming even as he garbled for breath around his mangled, mending throat.

The darkness seething in Stiles' chest responded to the sight. A visceral, pleasurable response that sent dark, twisted arousal shooting through him, making his dick suddenly hard and aching as he struggled to pin down Theo's struggling body. Theo had trained that response into him, had encouraged it, had intentionally fed and honed his bloodlust, but still, it was a hard shock to his system. That feeling in these circumstances wasn't something Stiles' mind was equipped to process. He couldn't face it, couldn't face what it made him. He wanted to stop, he wanted to run, but if he stopped he was going to die, or worse, he would _live_ to suffer Theo's wrath, and the bastard who had murdered everyone he loved would escape punishment. The internal conflict was brief but brutal and it felt like it tore a rift through his soul. He felt like he was ripping down the seams and something else was stepping out of the ashes.  

The blood, the rage, the pain, the murderous desire and the patterns and pathways Stiles' mind had slid into under the influence of working the kitsune magic were overwhelming forces. He was losing himself. The world was slipping away and it felt like he was passing out, only he wasn't passing out, he was still moving, still acting, it just didn't seem real anymore. It was someone else's body, someone else's actions. It was as if his mind were pulling apart from itself, breaking into shards, like the sword had. The fracture of his mind that was still _him,_ still what he knew as _Stiles_ was falling away, leaving the other fracture, the Void fracture in control. It could handle what was happening. It could see this through. Stiles couldn't, but Void could, so Void put Stiles into a kind of twilight sleep, to keep him safe from the things he couldn't handle. To keep him quiet and out of the way while Void dealt with this little prick of a werewolf who was badly in need of punishing.

Theo's neck had already almost mended, but he was still reeling. Void jammed his knee hard into Theo's still pulsing, still sensitive genitals, using the distraction to slash the wolf's throat open again. Not trying to take his head off this time, no, not yet. Theo deserved so much worse than a quick death.  He'd hurt them so much, for so long. He'd broken poor Stiles' mind, body and spirit. He'd created Void, who knew somewhere inside himself that he should not exist, that he was only an echo, a ragged shadow created by a desperate, hurting mind, copied from a familiar pattern, fed by trauma and by the dark, cursed scar around the traumatized boy's heart. He was darkness created to protect Stiles, but he knew that in protecting, he would also destroy him.

For that, and for the deaths and destruction of everything that Stiles had loved. For that, Theo was going to pay ... and Void was going to _enjoy_ it.

"You want to party, Theo? Let's party," Void spit coldly, fixing the werewolf with a crazed and blood splattered grin. "You said getting fucked wasn't your thing, but I think it's about damn time you knew what it felt like." Void slashed Theo again and rolled him onto his stomach while he was still re-growing his windpipe. Maybe the kitsune blade did have some kind of added effect against werewolves, because either Void was unusually strong, or Theo was unusually weakened by his injuries.

Void grabbed the ends of the ropes attached to the bottom of the nearby footstool that Theo usually used to bind him. He cut them free and twisted one loop around Theo's neck, digging it into the healing wound and screwing up his body's ability to heal around it, keeping the werewolf gasping desperately for breath. The other piece he used to lash Theo's wrists together behind his back, connecting them together so that if Theo tried to break the ropes by yanking them part he would A) probably make them cut halfway through his wrists and B) almost certainly decapitate, or at the very least throttle himself.

Void yanked Theo's pants down and kicked his legs apart. He jabbed one of the sticky, bloody blades that had by now almost fused into his badly sliced up hands, against the base of the werewolf's scrotum threateningly. "Stick your ass up for me, Theo," he mocked. "Be a good little bitch."

Theo was still gasping like a gutted fish. He hesitantly acquiesced to the threat, pushing up a little onto his knees and Void shuddered in delight. The sense of having the werewolf at his mercy, of having that much _power_ was heady and overwhelming. He wanted to hurt Theo _so_ badly he could taste it. He wanted to hurt him like he had been hurt, wanted, _needed_ to make Theo understand what it felt like.

"It's your turn to scream, now," Void hissed as he pressed against the werewolf. "So scream for me, Theo. Scream while you've still got a fucking throat to scream with."

He took Theo without prep and without lube, ramming into him so hard it hurt them both. Void fucked the werewolf brutally, grabbing onto the back of his father's ruined jacket and just pounding him. He'd started crying at some point, the tears silent as they slipped down his face and joined the stains of rain and blood.

Theo did scream. He screamed a _lot_ and it was glorious. Climax rolled over Void like a wave and he rode it, grinding down hard and pumping his seed into Theo's battered ass with a stuttering gasp.

Void blinked, breathing harshly and wavering slightly as the rush cooled. The wash of sensation had wakened Stiles. Stiles was confused and trying to understand what was going on, a creeping, shaking sense of horror and the unhelpful fingers of a panic attack trying to reach out and wrap around his chest.

Void tried to put Stiles back to sleep, tried to put those feelings out of his mind until he could finish what had to be finished. He was still crying. Or maybe Stiles was crying. Probably. Void didn't cry, but that was something Stiles would do. It was hard to know what was Void and what was Stiles. Sometimes it felt clear, and sometimes it was all confused, like water colors splashed on a page, bleeding and blending into one another.

Void knew the wolf could not live, though. Stiles must not get in the way until the wolf was dead. That was easier said than done, since even though he had Theo at a disadvantage, he had no suitable werewolf killing paraphernalia, only broken blades that were razor sharp, but barely as long as box cutters.

Void grabbed Theo by the hair, yanking his head back and reaching around his throat. It might take a while to hack his head off with this weapon and his healing rate, but Void was game to try it. Decapitation killed most things.

Suddenly Void's back was hitting the ground as Theo flipped them over, pinning the human with his legs as he snapped his hands free. It _did_ cut his wrists badly, and jerked the rope buried in the flesh of his neck painfully deep, but apparently not so badly as to incapacitate the wolf.  

Void snarled and slashed at him with the blades still clutched in his hands, but Theo caught his wrists and pinned them down by his head. Theo leaned over him. He was dripping a steady stream of blood, but there did not seem to be anything wrong with his strength _now._ He held Void down with ease as the human bucked and struggled, snarling and cursing harshly.

"Okay, that's _enough_ ," Theo growled, red eyes flashing. He sounded like he was trying to pull _alpha voice,_ but his voice was too guttural and wrecked from the damage he'd taken to be more than a raspy snarl.  "You've had your fun, settle down."

The reality of the situation started to sink in and with it came the full return of Stiles' consciousness. It was like Void merged back into him, melting like ink disappearing into black water, and suddenly he was aware again. He'd always been aware, though, on some level. He knew what had happened, what he'd done, the same as he'd known everything the Nogitsune had done through his body ... only, this time, this was all him.

Stiles panted for breath, blinking stupidly, trying to deal with everything he was feeling all at once and wanting nothing more than to run away screaming, mostly from himself. Then Theo shifted over him and Stiles realized he very much wanted to run away screaming from him too. _Oh God. Oh God ... Theo was going to **kill** him. _Only, not _really,_ and that was the problem. He'd just leave Stiles _wishing_ he was dead. Which Stiles already did.

Stiles started to hyperventilate, his whole body beginning to tremble. The riotous chaos of emotions he'd just experienced, combined with disappointment and utter terror over having tried and failed to kill his captor was too much for him. _This was going to be so bad. Theo was going to punish him so fucking bad, he couldn't even imagine._  A little voice at the back of his head whispered that he'd deserve it. Both for what he had just done in his bloodlust fueled frenzy, and because he'd failed so utterly to avenge his pack.

"Shh, don't freak out," Theo murmured, voice still raspy but surprisingly non-murderous. Apparently, he could see the change in Stiles' demeanor and smell his rising panic. Kneeling on Stiles' arms to keep him pinned, Theo freed his own hands so he could work the rope out of the partially closed wound across his throat. He worked at it for a minute or two without a lot of success and it looked like it hurt, _a lot_.

Finally, Theo gave up and fixed Stiles with a stern look as he crawled off of him. "Don't. Move."

Stiles probably wouldn't have obeyed that command, but what happened next made it moot because he was too busy staring to do anything else. Theo gripped the trailing end of the rope in one hand, pinning it to the floor, then he leaned onto his hands and knees and just ... shifted. Not a beta shift, no, this was a full body, actual wolf transformation. Stiles had seen Malia in her Coyote form, before they knew one another. He'd seen Derek in his full wolf form at least once. He hadn't, however, ever witnessed someone changing between states. 

It wasn't at all like in the movies. Or at least, not the movies he'd seen. It was a strangely fluid glide, Theo's body morphing with seeming effortlessness from one shape to the other. The rope, trapped under his hand (now his paw), slid free as Theo's body fluxed and reformed into canid shape, his body shedding mass with no concern for the rules of physics. Theo didn't stay wolf very long however. He paused only long enough to wriggle out of the tangle that his clothing had become around his suddenly non-human shape, then immediately shifted back.

Stiles felt a strange, cold sinking sensation in his stomach. If it was that easy for him, Theo could have shifted at any time. Stiles never would have been able to hold onto him if he'd changed into wolf form. Why hadn't he?

Theo rolled casually back over Stiles, straddling him like Stiles wasn't still clutching bloody bits of blade in his hands.  Theo's now naked body still clearly bore some healing cuts and scabs, especially around his neck, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. "Fuck," he coughed, rubbing his healing neck ruefully. " _Fuck,_ you're a kinky one. I hope you appreciate how much that sucked."

Stiles stared up at him blankly, uncomprehending. Nothing made sense. The world was upside down and backwards and he must be going mad.

Theo eased the shards of metal out of Stiles' hands and tossed them across the room. Stiles was too dazed and uncertain to resist. Not that resisting would have done any good. He was slowly starting to understand that Theo had never been in any serious danger from him. He'd not _failed_ to kill him, because it had never really been a possibility. Theo had had the ability to reverse the tables on him anytime he wanted. He wasn't sure if that made things better or worse. It felt like worse. Theo had fucking _played_ him.

"You _let_ me do that," Stiles murmured in shock, frowning up at Theo, still feeling utterly dazed. "Why?"

Theo cocked his head to the side like it was an odd question. "I told you I wanted to celebrate with you, babe. This is your party too. When I saw that look in your eyes, I thought we might end up here. If not today, it would have been another day, but I kind of thought it would be today." Theo had the audacity to smile at Stiles, like they'd just experienced some sweet little milestone and not the utter devastation of his mind and soul. 

Theo leaned down and kissed him. "It felt so good, right? You liked it. I could tell." He rolled his body lazily against Stiles, unperturbed or perhaps even attracted by the fact that the other boy was still coated in his blood.

He smiled at Stiles adoringly, still with that jazzed, slightly crazy, hopped-up vibe from earlier. His recent change in power status seemed to be making Theo ride the crazy train even harder than usual. "I wanted you to have that, Stiles. I wanted you to understand how good it feels when you just let go. You're right, this isn't my thing, but you know, it's okay, I can make it work. Not all the time, but I can do special occasions." Theo shrugged again, rubbing a little ruefully at his neck which was still a blotchy red, although the flesh had mended. "I'm your alpha, I've got plenty to spare now and can afford to be a little indulgent if I want to. You understand now, don’t you? How great this can be? How great _we_ can be."

Stiles shook his head slowly, not so much a denial as simply a gesture of shock. He should feel relieved that Theo apparently wasn't angry or going to punish him (although the first did not always mean the second) but he felt like he'd been run over by a truck and he was having a really hard time grappling with all of this.

Theo had _wanted_ this to happen?  He had intentionally _maneuvered_ Stiles into a situation where he'd be likely to snap? Well, at least that explained the trophies, and the way he'd seemed intent on rubbing what he'd done in Stiles' face. The thought sent a horrible, despairing chill through Stiles. He glanced sideways to where his father's jacket now lay crumpled on the ground, then quickly squeezed his eyes shut and looked away again. He wasn't angry anymore, it was as if he'd burned himself out and now all he could feel was the empty, aching pain. 

Theo leaned down, licking and sucking lightly at the deep wounds gouged into Stiles' palms and fingers. "Gotta say, _this_ was a surprise," the werewolf allowed. "Didn't think you could work Kitsune craft."

"Didn't work it, I broke it," Stiles mumbled numbly.

"Well, still more than I expected. Guess I'll need to be a little more careful with you. You're full of surprises." He frowned at Stiles' mangled hands. "I'm gonna have to use some more of the serious patch up stuff on these though," he commented. "Shit, babe. You almost sliced your fingers off."

Tears escaped quietly down the sides Stiles' face, but not from the pain of having his injuries tended. He couldn't do this. He couldn't live like this. He couldn't live with the loss and the pain. He couldn't live with what Theo wanted him to be ... and especially not with what he now realized he was _capable_ of being.

He didn't regret trying to kill Theo, only failing to do so, but ... he'd gone way further than that. He'd crossed a line and he knew it. Maybe this had all been a sick game, and Theo had wanted him to do exactly what he had, but that didn't make what Stiles had done any less horrible. He could still remember the pleasure, the rush, the glory of blood and pain and force and ... and it was too much. It was enough to make him start to feel hard again and he thought he might throw up.  

He didn't care what dreams may come anymore. No nightmare, no hell could be worse than this, and at least in hell, he couldn't hurt anyone else. He wouldn't end up becoming the kind of monster he most hated.

"Theo?" Stiles whispered softly, his voice faint and lost. "Do you really love me?"

"Of course I do," Theo promised, kissing him lightly and wiping some of the tears from his blood stained cheeks. "You think I'd let you maul me like that if I didn't?"

Stiles allowed that was true. He allowed that he may never really understand Theo at all. He allowed that he wasn't sure he cared or that any of it mattered. "If you really love me," Stiles whispered softly. "Kill me."

Theo huffed softly, like he thought Stiles was joking. "That might be a bit extreme, babe. We can go to the edge if you want to, but I kind of like you breathing," he said wryly.

Stiles swallowed and shook his head. "I'm not joking. Theo, please, I mean it. If you really give a damn about me, _please_..." he whispered.

Theo stiffened as if finally catching the tone of Stiles' voice and the seriousness of his entreaty. He looked down at him with a sudden, confused sharpness. "What? Stiles ... why?"

"Because I c-cant," Stiles said softly, his body shaking with exhausted, soundless sobs. "I can't do this, Theo. I can't be what you want me to be. You think this is me, but it's not me, or if it is, then it's not the me I _want_ to be."

Theo shook his head. "It's the let-down hormones talking, babe. It's easy to feel really low after you've felt really high," he dismissed. "It's okay, you'll feel better after some food and sleep."

"I won't. You don't get it, I d-don't want this," Stiles sobbed. "I don’t want whatever just happened to happen again. I don't want to become ..." _to become more Void than Stiles,_ but he didn't know how to tell Theo that, so he just shook his head helplessly. "I can't be what you want," he reiterated. "I'll only disappoint you. Just let me die, Theo. Just kill me with the rest of my pack and move on, because I won't ever be a part of yours. I can't."  He closed his eyes, praying, _pleading_ for Theo to just this once give him what he wanted.

Theo stood, gathering Stiles up into his arms carrying him over to the tub. Stiles cringed, sobbing against his shoulder, but Theo shushed him and just ran a shower for them, washing the blood from Stiles' body much more gently than Stiles knew he deserved.

"Shh, Stiles, you're upset right now. It will pass, trust me. Just wait a while and it will get better, you'll see," he promised. "Come on babe, I know you're down, but I really need you right now, okay?" Stiles could feel Theo's erection digging into his hip, clearly, he was still antsy and hopped up on blood and power. "I'll be gentle, I know you're not up for rough stuff right now," he promised, pushing Stiles down and settling over him.

Stiles didn't fight him, and Theo was as relatively true to his word as his worked up state allowed.

Eventually, Theo left Stiles bandaged and clean, with food and kisses and promises that everything would be okay and get better.

Only Stiles knew it wouldn't.  Nothing was ever going to be okay again, and it would only get worse. He'd seen the monster he was becoming and it scared him. It scared him because on some level it didn’t scare him enough, because some part of his mind wanted to just bide his time and find a way to use Theo's obsession against him, and that part of his mind did not have a problem with the idea of fucking Theo bloody in five hundred different ways.

Stiles felt no compunction about wanting to kill Theo, but he _didn't_ just want to kill him, and that was where everything got murky. Honestly? He wanted to flip their situation around. He wanted to keep Theo in a dark little hole and destroy him slowly. He was going down a road he couldn't come back from and Stiles knew this movie. It was practically a hop skip and a jump from here to killing kids in the Jedi temple. Well, okay, honestly that whole thing had sucked and not made a lot of sense, but the overall idea of it was not to be ignored. Everyone could fall, some had less distance to cover than others, and after a certain point, you wouldn't care _who_ you hurt anymore. He had once told Peter he didn't want to be like him, because somewhere inside Stiles knew he _could_ be.

That was the thing, though. He had choice. Nobody was going to make him a monster against his will. It had been done once. The nogitsune had done it to him, had raped his will and made him like it. Some echo of that evil still lived in his head, if only as a model, an imprint of what he _could_ be, and he'd seen how easy it would be to fall into being that person. To just stop caring and embrace the painlessness of becoming Void. It would be so easy ... but he wouldn't do it. He'd had little pity for Matt Daehler, hadn't felt that a traumatic childhood event was an excuse for what he had become, and he had no more pity on himself now, only the hollow, weary practicality that he knew he wasn't strong enough to hold out forever.

He couldn't stop Theo, he'd tried and he'd failed, but he could spare the world at least one more horror. It was an empty world now, with everyone who mattered gone, but if there was anyone still worth protecting left out there, any fresh-faced, stupid little babies like he and Scott had once been, upon whom the responsibility of the mess they'd all created would eventually fall, at least he wouldn't become _their_ first monster, wouldn't destroy their lives like his had been destroyed; at least he could protect them from himself. It was the only possible good he could see left to do at this point.

That was why Stiles filled the bathtub up with water again once he was alone. That was why he climbed in and slid down to the bottom, staring up the ceiling for one last time through the warping distortion of the ripples above. Ironic, that he'd always been kind of afraid of drowning. If he could have put a bullet through his head, he would have, but this was the only real option he had, so he just had to go with it. It didn't matter, really. Not anymore. He couldn't go any farther. He needed this to be over. He needed the pain to stop.

Despite his resolve, it was hard to let his air out and take that first breath in. His body fought him, automatically struggling for a life he didn't want anymore. _Voluntary apnea_ , he knew all about that. The memory of discussing the subject pinged across his brain, flashing like the lights starting to pop behind his eyes as he pressed them shut and willed himself to just let go. 

 _"What if it just gets worse? What if it's agony now, and then it's just hell later on?"_ He'd asked that question once, long ago. Well, he had his answer now.

Deliberately, Stiles forced the air from his lungs. Deliberately, he inhaled the water in, knowing that soon, very soon, it would stop hurting, and the peace would come.


	6. I wanna feel you, I want it all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is not the last chapter after all. There will be at least one more. (*^▽^*)
> 
> A couple of things I should mention... 1) In this story, Kira did not leave Beacon Hills, or if she did, she came back pretty soon after. 2) Derek also came back. 3) The Sheriff's name is John (or at least I'm going to pretend it is). 4) This story is very AU, but I do incorporate a number of familiar events... just with some twists. 
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR AWESOME, AMAZING, LIFE-GIVING REVIEWS!! I love you all so much. (♥ω♥*) Seriously, thank you. I'm am continually honored, amazed and delighted at how kind you all are and your feedback has literally been the best and brightest thing in my life lately. I can't thank you enough for that. You truly are the best. ♥

Peace did not come. Theo came. Stiles didn't remember that part. He'd already blacked out. He had no memory of Theo removing him from the tub. The next thing he was aware of was lying on the floor, his head and lungs burning as he coughed up water, Theo kneeling over him with his hands crossed on his chest and breathing into his mouth, giving him urgent CPR.

Theo looked ... alarmed? Angry? Distressed?  Stiles couldn't tell. His vision was blurry and his mind disorientated.

His eyes fluttered shut in despair as Theo rolled him onto his side when he started regurgitating the water in his stomach and lungs. _He couldn't even die properly. Theo wouldn't even let him have that. What a fucking joke._ He didn't know how Theo had found him in time. Was he watching him somehow? Had he been close enough to hear his heart stop? Was it just dumb luck? To be honest, Stiles couldn't really bring himself to care.

Stiles coughed and coughed, shaking from chill and from the pain. His lungs felt like heavy, angry sponges and stabbing pains in his chest suggested that Theo had probably accidentally broken a few ribs giving him CPR. Tears slid silently down his face, mingling with the water streaming from his hair as he curled into a fetal position.

Theo rubbed his back, crouching beside him. "I was afraid you were going to try something like that," he murmured, voice heavy with resigned sorrow and frustration. "But I was hoping you wouldn't."

Theo scooped him up and carried him to the couch. He wrapped Stiles up in blankets and let him rest with his head and shoulders pillowed on the werewolf's lap. He stroked Stiles’ wet hair and rubbed his shoulder soothingly, letting Stiles curl up and cry himself out.

Theo was a little upset with him, Stiles could hear it in his voice, but he also seemed determined to try to be comforting. He made soothing sounds, telling Stiles how much he loved him and how he couldn't lose him, how Stiles mustn't ever leave him. He promised Stiles over and over how much better everything would be eventually, and what good care he'd take of him.

Stiles just continued to cough and cry. It was no use begging Theo. No use trying to make him understand how much Stiles didn't _want_ the future he was being promised and how much he needed to escape this hell of an existence. Theo would never get it. Maybe he wasn't capable of getting it. Maybe he believed his own shtick and really thought that he loved Stiles and was doing what was best for him. Maybe he was just a conscienceless son of a bitch who was completely mental. Stiles didn't know anymore.

After that, Theo could no longer trust that Stiles wouldn't hurt himself when he was alone. He started leaving Stiles tied down securely in his bed whenever he wasn't around. Stiles knew it was to prevent another attempt ... but it was also punishment. Theo was not happy that he'd tried to leave him, even through death.

Theo quickly discovered the problems of keeping Stiles continually restrained, including facts that Stiles couldn't take care of any of his own basic needs and Theo couldn't be there frequently enough for this to not be an issue. He also seemed perfectly aware it would not be healthy for Stiles to be unable to move about in the long term. The second day after Stiles' attempted suicide, Theo brought down a straight jacket.

Stiles could have laughed bitterly at this, but he didn't. He wasn't speaking to Theo anymore. So he just stared at the wall as Theo manhandled him into it and buckled his arms down to his body.

Theo safety-proofed the room and put water in a bowl for Stiles, like a dog.

Stiles wouldn't drink it. He wouldn't eat either.

Theo punished him.

Stiles still refused.

Theo punished him more harshly and started force-feeding him.

Stiles wouldn't talk to Theo no matter how much the werewolf beat him. He screamed, he cried, but he wouldn't talk. It hurt _so_ much, but Stiles clung to the vague hope that if he made Theo frustrated and disgusted with him enough, if he became totally uncooperative and uninteresting to the werewolf, that eventually Theo would get sick of it and just kill him.

He was certainly succeeding in making Theo pissed with him. Stiles didn't seem to be the _only_ cause of Theo's distemper, though. For some reason, Theo's initially good mood soured after a few days and that did not seem to all be due to Stiles' willful resistance to living.

Theo grew increasingly irritable and edgy, prone to sudden fits of temper and shouting. He'd always had a fairly mercurial flashpoint, but it was a lot worse now and he seemed to have no patience for attempting to be gentle with his stubborn prisoner anymore. Instead he vented his frustration on Stiles, sometimes punishing him when he hadn't even done anything. Theo spent as much time beating him as he did fucking him, now, if not more.

In constant pain, Stiles shrank from the escalating abuse, trying desperately not to care, trying desperately not to fall through the dark cracks in his mind in an effort to escape. He didn't always succeed. Sometimes when he couldn't take anymore, Void put him to sleep again and took the beating for him, simmering with hatred and rage that kept him going. It scared Stiles when that happened, but he was too helpless for Void to do anything bad, so he didn't fight it as much as he probably should have.

It would have been easier, maybe, if he believed he were simply becoming possessed again, but always too smart for his own good, Stiles knew somewhere in his heart that he and Void were one and the same, different parts of the same fractured soul. He knew his mind was creating Void in a desperate attempt to become something that could deal with what he was going through. He felt like knowing should make a difference, but it didn't.

Stiles tried to suffocate himself by eating the sheets one day. He only succeeded in making himself pass out though. There was no mistaking how angry Theo was with him this time. He caned Stiles viciously and then whipped him brutally with a crop, almost as bad as he had that very first time back in the Doctors' lair.  Theo was out of control, simmering with too much rage for all of it to have been caused by Stiles.

He yelled at Stiles, telling him what idiots people were as he whipped him; seething aloud about people who just didn't understand, who didn't know what was good for them and how they wouldn't know a good thing if it smacked them in their fucking faces. About how people were so fucking stupid and stubborn and didn't realize what they really needed, wouldn't take the world when you were trying to fucking _offer_ it to them. He didn't sound like he was only talking about Stiles, but Stiles was too busy being in mind-shredding agony to pay much attention.

It hurt too much, it hurt far too much, and Stiles finally caved. "P-Please," he begged Theo hoarsely through his screaming sobs, speaking for the first time in days. "T-T-Theo, please... st-top... d-don't... please, I-I'm sorry! P-please, Theo..."

Theo was still clearly seething with anger, but he also seemed to recognize the concession he'd just gotten. For once, he did stop when Stiles begged for it. He softly squeezed the back of Stiles' neck, which was about the only part of him that wasn't bleeding right now.

"Okay," Theo dropped the bloodied crop, pressing his forehead to the side of Stiles' face, his breath warm against the human's ear as he crouched next to him. Theo seemed to be attempting to center himself, almost as if he drew some kind of strength from Stiles. "Okay, Stiles." 

Stiles sobbed helplessly and Theo just stayed there for a minute, breathing him in, lightly squeezing his neck and stroking his hair. Finally, the werewolf rose, untying Stiles' hands from the footstool over which he was draped and tugging the human upright.

Stiles couldn't stand and Theo picked him up, carrying him across the room. "I'm going to put you in the tub for a while, give you some time to think about getting your act together."

He bound Stiles on his knees again in the tub, only he didn't fill it with water this time. He slid behind Stiles, spreading his legs. He took Stiles dry and left him shaking, blood and cum dripping down his thighs. He retrieved a blindfold from the toy chest and fastened it securely over Stiles' eyes, knowing how much the human hated sensory deprivation.  

"I gotta go take care of some things, babe," he said, carding his fingers lightly through Stiles' messy hair. "You're gonna stay like this and give some good hard thought to the consequences of your behavior. When I come back, you better be ready to be good for me." The threat was quiet, but loaded with promise.

Stiles gave a small, trembling nod, hating himself intensely.

"Good," Theo approved, ruffling his captive's hair fondly once more before he left. Stiles heard him gather up his clothes and then the sound of the door closing behind him and the locks sliding home. It was the last sound he heard for a long time.

Stiles was in agony and every minute seemed like a year. Trapped in the dark, with nothing to focus on but the ungodly pain of his injuries, the burning inside his ass and the sensation of his blood and Theo's cum drying on his skin, it was easy to feel like time had slowed to a crawl. As hour after hour dragged by without end, though, Stiles knew that it wasn't only that it _felt_ like a lot of time was passing. A lot of time _was_ passing. He slid in and out of an uneasy, non-restful unconsciousness, so it was difficult to judge the exact passage of time, but it was clearly dragging on.

Theo had left him like this for days before, it wouldn't be a surprise if he intended to again, but always before, Theo had come to check on him at intervals, at least keeping him clean and hydrated. This time, however, Theo did not return.

Stiles became desperately thirsty. It had to be at least a day since Theo had left him by now. Surely, he'd come back soon.

Only he didn't.

By what he judged to be the second day, Stiles was starting to drift towards delirium. He was so thirsty he wanted to cry, but so dehydrated his body seemed unwilling to produce the tears. It was ironic, considering how he'd tried to defy Theo earlier by refusing to drink and now all he wanted in the world was to have something liquid in his mouth. Theo had always forced him to drink, never allowing him to go without long enough for this kind of true, torturous, burning thirst to kick in before. It was almost as bad as the intense, relentless pain of the injuries he'd taken. If Stiles could be sure that the dehydration would eventually kill him, maybe he'd have been able to resign himself to it, but he knew Theo wasn't going to let that happen. This was probably just another method of punishment, perhaps Theo's way of teaching him to be careful what he wished for. That meant he'd be allowed to suffer, but not to die, meaning there was no relief in sight unless Theo thought he'd learned his lesson and chose to gentle with him again when he next returned.

Stiles felt like since he wanted to die, he shouldn't care about the pain. He'd been hurt so repeatedly, shouldn't he get numb to it at some point? Shouldn't he be able to become indifferent to the hurt and just not care anymore?  It felt like he should, but he couldn't. He was just as desperate for the suffering to end as he'd always been, and that made him feel disappointed in himself somehow. It shouldn't fucking _matter_ what his body was feeling when it felt like his soul was already dead, and yet, he couldn't seem to ignore the agony.

After a while he could honestly no longer bear it and found himself hoping with increasing desperation that Theo would show up soon. He'd be good. He would. _Come back. Please come back._

Stiles began running a fever, infection from his untreated injuries quickly wreaking havoc on his already compromised system. He was exhausted and floating around in a semi-delirious fog of pain, privation and misery when he finally, _finally_ heard the door open.

His heartbeat spiked in a mixture of frantic anticipation and fear. _Please let Theo be in a good mood._ He desperately needed the werewolf to be gentle with him; he couldn't bear any more of his anger, not right now. Stiles tried to straighten up a little, but merely lifting his head was almost too much for him. He whimpered. His body couldn't handle the sudden jolt of adrenaline or his quickening pulse and the world swam dizzily around him, leaving him barely conscious of his surroundings. He was vaguely aware of a presence beside him, the brush of a hand on his neck and a tugging pressure at the blindfold trapping his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, voice so cracked and hoarse that he had to struggle to make the words audible. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be good," he promised, shoulders shaking with dry sobs. "I'll be good. Theo ... please ... please, water..." he begged.

"Stiles? Oh God ... _Stiles_!" the horrified voice was strange and unexpected.

Stiles frowned, his head buzzing with confusion. The blindfold was tugged off and he blinked owlishly, wincing and squinting against the sudden glare of light on his long deprived optic nerves.  For a few seconds everything was a wash of light, too bright to make out. He felt fingers tracing the circle of the manacles around his wrists as if looking for the release catch. The touch was strangely clumsy, the hands fumbling as if in great urgency or distress.

Colors and shapes finally coalesced into understandable images and Stiles squinted, realizing now that he must simply be hallucinating, or dreaming again. He'd dreamed often enough over the past days that Theo had returned, only to wake disappointed, still alone and in agony. His mind had conjured a different image this time, though. This time it was Scott beside him, looking at him with expressive eyes full of a strange mixture of joy, horror and heartbreak.

Stiles let his eyes fall shut, unable to breathe around a sudden, suffocating pain in his chest that had nothing to do with his broken ribs. His subconscious was unbearably cruel; putting the image of Scott before him like this, when he knew his friend was dead and gone. His body found what felt like the last traces of moisture in his system to squeeze out a few tears. He struggled to wake up, willing the illusion away. _No, no... he'd rather be alone than deal with this pain. It was worse than any other agony could be._

"Oh my God, call 911. Call 911!" The hallucination of Scott was shouting at someone. "Stiles? Stiles can you hear me?" The voice refused to let Stiles retreat back into darkness, refused to let him escape the horrible, heartbreaking beauty of the dream. Fingers that felt incredibly real touched his face, a gentle hand brushing his flushed cheek before sliding away again. 

Stiles' eyes fluttered back open without his consent and he saw Scott give up on trying to figure out the chains holding him upright, opting to simply rip the metal apart with his hands instead. Stiles slumped like a puppet with cut strings and Scott caught him, leaning awkwardly over the side of the tub. Scott fumbled, like he was trying to find somewhere to hold Stiles that wasn't injured and wouldn’t hurt him, only there was no such surface available.

Stiles winced as his head fell limply to rest against the shoulder of Scott's jacket. It even smelt like him. This was a really, really vivid dream.

Hallucination Scott held onto him, keeping him from toppling over. He was saying something urgent that Stiles didn't quite catch, because his mind stuck on the word _water_ in the sentence and whirled agonizingly around it. _Yes, yes, water, please, water..._

Stiles was not used to having his wishes granted, but apparently his dream was going to be a little nicer to him than real life because in the dream, Lydia appeared, handing Scott a plastic water bottle that Scott nearly ripped the top off of in his hurry to get it open.

Stiles blinked at Lydia, who was wearing an expression of concern very much like Scott's. He felt the pain of loss all over again. Any minute now, his dad or one of the others would probably come walking in too. He didn't know how to deal with this. It hurt _so_ badly. But then the water bottle was against his lips and water, _amazing, wet, **wonderful** water, _was flowing into his parched mouth and he momentarily forgot about everything else as he gulped at it urgently.

He drank too fast and started choking. The water bottle pulled back and he whined desperately, trying weakly to chase it with his head, although he was barely able to make any of his muscles work. The bottle came back and he sucked at it hard, spluttering and almost inhaling the water in his need to get as much as possible before it was denied him.

"Scott, don't let him drink so fast, he's going to choke," Lydia's voice was deeply concerned, she was crouching next to them now, her eyes red-rimmed and suspiciously wet looking.

"H-He needs it, Lydia," Scott protested, the quaver in his voice drawing Stiles' attention back to him. Scott was crying.

"He doesn't need to suffocate before we can get him out of here!" Lydia said definitively, pain rather than anger making her tone sharp. She reached over and pulled the bottle back, forcing Stiles to breathe before he started choking again.

Stiles whimpered, gazing at them imploringly and Scott looked like he was being gutted.

"It's okay; it's okay, Stiles," Lydia promised gently, touching Stiles' hair and pushing it back from his feverish brow with soft, cool fingers. "You can have as much as you want, just take it slow. Easy, easy..." she coaxed.

"There's ... there's no signal down here. I called 911 from upstairs." Liam was standing in the doorway, looking ill and distressed, and studiously _not_ looking at Stiles.

Mason stood just behind him, his worried gaze seeming unable to look anywhere _but_ Stiles. "An ambulance is on the way," the human added quietly.

Scott nodded; shifting Stiles a little in his arms as Lydia carefully fed him the rest of the water bottle. "Malia and ...?" he asked.

"Think I just heard them pull in," Liam answered quickly. His gaze was darting around the little prison chamber, his fists curling at his sides. His voice had changed, words coming out from around his fangs.

"Okay, go let them know where we are, then wait for the ambulance out front, all right? Make sure they find us." Scott prudently sent the younger boys away. Liam was obviously having trouble dealing with the scene into which they'd stumbled.

Stiles marveled at the level of inconsequential intricacy his subconscious was capable of cooking up. This was the most detailed dream he'd ever had. Part of his mind was telling him that this wasn't a dream, but he was too afraid to allow himself to entertain that thought, because logic said it _had_ to be a dream and Stiles knew in his soul he could not stand the devastating crush of the letdown if he allowed himself to believe, and then woke again alone and in darkness. There wasn't enough left of him.

So he accepted it as a dream, because that he could allow himself to enjoy, even if just for a minute, before reality came back. The water bottle was empty. Scott lifted him carefully out of the tub and into his arms, handling him like fine china.

The movement hurt, of course. Everything hurt. Stiles whimpered and pressed his face against Scott's chest, sinking into the illusionary arms of his best friend and letting himself be held. Maybe it wasn't real, but it felt so nice, so safe. Such a relief to really believe, even for a minute, that for once the comforting arms around him truly meant him no harm, and that gentleness would not turn to brutality if he screwed up. Such a lovely dream, really.

Scott sat on the floor with him and Lydia draped a blanket around them. The warmth and the sense of safety was so nice. Stiles' pain was all draining away, disappearing into nothing and leaving him feeling amazingly blissful and content. It felt so good that he began to wonder if maybe this wasn't a dream, but rather, his mind's way of processing the fact that he was dying, and that's why he was seeing the people he was seeing. If there was an afterlife, he wouldn't have expected that he'd be sent to the good part of it, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe the powers that be would be benevolent enough to let him join the people he loved. It was almost too much to hope for and his eyes stung.

"Am I dead, Scott? I think I'm dead," he murmured faintly as the other boy rocked him. "Can I be dead with you?" he whispered plaintively. "I want to be dead with you."

"You're not dead. You're alive, Stiles. You can be _alive_ with me, okay?" Scott murmured to him, his voice catching and choking, his chest hitching against Stiles. Scott was crying, trying hard not to sob.  "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..." Scott gave up trying and sobbed softly as he held his friend to him.

Stiles saw black veins crawling up the sides of Scott's neck like spider webs, but everything felt peaceful and surreal and he didn't connect the sight with why he was no longer feeling any pain.

"Scott..." Lydia's voice was soft and worried beside them, hoarse with emotion. She was crying too.

Scott just shook his head, continuing to sit and rock Stiles as the black lines fanned up and out along his jaw line.

Movement in the doorway drew everyone's attention. Stiles wasn't surprised when his father appeared, hurrying over and dropping this knees beside them with an expression of hope and grief so deep it kind of made Stiles want to cry, except that he finally felt so good, it seemed like it would be a waste.

"Hey, Dad," Stiles murmured dreamily, smiling a little around cracked lips when his father cradled his feverish head between his big hands, touching him as gently as if he thought Stiles might crumble to dust between his fingers. "Is Mom coming too?"

Stiles remembered a song somewhere with a line about there being no more tears in heaven, but people certainly seemed to be crying an awful lot wherever he was right now. There were tears in his dad's eyes, and Stiles would have tried to tell him everything was okay, if he had the strength, but reality was slipping and sliding around Stiles, voices becoming indistinct blurs of sound from which only a few clear phrases could at times be heard. He feared maybe he wasn't dying after all, and that he was starting to wake up again.

Screwing his eyes shut and trying desperately to hang onto the dream and not be pulled back to reality, Stiles pressed the side of his face against Scott's shirt. "No, no, no, please..." he begged. "Don't go. Don't go."

"We're not going anywhere, Stiles. It's okay; it's going to be okay."

Stiles couldn't tell who was speaking. Maybe several people were saying the same sort of thing. His head was buzzing. He was so afraid, so horribly afraid of opening his eyes and seeing only darkness, or worse, Theo.

"We need to get him out of here," a voice that sounded kind of like Scott said through clenched teeth and hiccupping breaths. "Help me up."

The sensation of motion dragged Stiles' eyes open, but he processed the flashes of color and movement around him as if it was happening very far away and to someone else.

Malia and John assisted Scott to his feet with his burden. The blanket slid free and Lydia caught it, hovering beside them. Kira appeared from somewhere too, everyone orbiting around them in a knot of semi-useless concern.

"Quick..." Stiles murmured, words slurring, his body feeling impossibly heavy and unresponsive, like almost any time he tried to run in a dream. "Take me. Take me with you, 'fore Theo comes back. He won't let me die," he whispered plaintively, looking around for a tunnel of light or whatever it was he needed to find that would let him escape before it was too late and the dream crumbled. "Take me with you," he pleaded.

Scott was having a great deal of difficulty keeping his feet. He barely made it a few steps before he pitched dangerously forward. John, having already seen the danger, moved quickly into his path, breaking Scott's forward stumble with his body and catching Stiles so they were now holding him together, between them.

There was a confusing flail of limbs as Kira, Lydia and Malia all caught at Scott and the Sheriff, trying to avoid jostling Stiles too much while steadying and assisting in keeping the tottering trio from going down. Scott was deathly pale. His hands were almost completely black against Stiles' skin, the darkness disappearing under his sleeves and reappearing in thick, pulsing lines snaking up his neck and the sides of his face.

The Sheriff may or may not have understood what he was seeing, but he seemed to get the picture in some way because he eased Stiles out of Scott's arms, slipping one hand carefully under his son's knees and the other beneath his shoulders. "I've got him," he murmured, voice still hoarse.

Scott resisted letting go for a moment, or maybe his muscles had seized. John backed up, disentangling them firmly but carefully. "Scott, you can let him go," he said quietly. "I've _got_ him."

Scott let go, sagging forward and Kira caught him, getting an arm under his shoulders.  

A latent thought sparked through Stiles' mind as the world rotated around him, his father carrying him towards the door. "I broke your sword," he mumbled in Kira's general direction. "'m sorry."

Then they were on the dark stairs, heading up and Stiles' body started to shake. _No, no, no, this was bad! What was he doing outside his room? He was going to get in so much trouble._ Stiles whimpered, small, jerky movements the closest he could come to struggling. "No," he murmured. "Not allowed. Not allowed out here. Can't ... can't... outside ... no. B-be punished..."

It was dark. He couldn’t see. Pain was creeping back into his awareness like the dreaded return of reality and his heart rate spiked in fear. It wasn't his father carrying him anymore, it was Theo, which meant he was fucked; he was _so_ fucked. He didn't know why he was out here, but it had to be bad and Theo must be furious.

He shook with dry sobs, pressing into the body cradling him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be good. I'll be good, Theo, please," he sobbed, pleading hoarsely. "Please don't. P-please let me be g-good for you."

The strong arms around him tightened and Stiles whimpered in despair, but the voice speaking to him in soothing, choked tones was not Theo's voice. Stiles couldn't understand for a minute. Couldn't hear anything but the weak, terrified pounding of his own heart rushing in his ears, but something caught at the ragged edges of his foggy senses. The scent of the body he was curled into finally seemed to register in his mind, triggering in him an instinctive sense of peace and safety, despite the accompanying stab of pain brought by his last, terrible association with the scent. The good memories outweighed the bad in his subconscious, however, and his body relaxed fractionally, comforted on an instinctual level over which he had no control.

Then they were at the top of the stairs, in the light again, and Stiles saw it was still his father carrying him, holding him and speaking meaningless, but comforting words, like he had when Stiles was a little boy with a broken arm. Only Stiles was a lot bigger now. Stiles frowned, hazy thoughts moving very slowly as relief and contentment made him feel suddenly unbearably tired. "Dad?"

"Yes, yes, Stiles, it's me. I've got you, okay? We're going to get you to the hospital; you're going to be okay. You're safe, kiddo, I swear, I won't let anybody hurt you. You're safe," John promised gently, over and over, his voice thick and fiercely protective.

Stiles nodded weakly. "Dad, 'm too heavy. Gonna hurt your back," he mumbled sleepily. "Back injuries are like, the mos' common workplace injury, you know," he rambled faintly.

John made a soft, choking sound that was sort of a laugh.  "I'll be fine, Stiles. You barely weigh anything. I-I see a lot of curly fries in your future, kiddo. You just hold on, we're going to get you out of here."

Lydia caught up with them, insistently draping the blanket around Stiles again while they walked. Maybe she remembered what it was like, to stumble naked out of the woods, knowing on some level that your life had changed forever. 

It felt to Stiles like he was carried for a really long time, through twisting passages and hallways and dim, unwelcoming rooms that barely registered with him. It was when he was finally carried outside into the bright sunlight of a cloudless afternoon that Stiles first truly accepted that he was not in fact dreaming and that even if it didn't make sense, this was actually _happening_.

He barely remembered the ambulance ride, just the sound of the sirens and a small, dim space that made him frightened, but his father was there with him, holding his hand and that made it okay. He must have drifted in and out of consciousness, because he did not remember being unloaded from the ambulance or taken into the hospital.

The next thing he knew he was in another unfamiliar room. It was bland and featureless, like his prison. He was naked, lying face down, with unfamiliar hands touching his body. He couldn't see his father and couldn't lift his head enough to see more than a glimpse of the room. Panic slammed into him and Stiles started screaming. He tried to get up, thrashing weakly and almost rolling off of whatever he was lying on. Hands grabbed at him, pulling him back, holding him down, and the fear bit deeper.

Unfamiliar voices spoke urgently and a deep, spreading leadenness began to take over him, making his already weak body even more sluggish, but only intensifying his terror.

"Hey, hey, Stiles, it's okay," Melissa McCall was suddenly by his side, in her nurses' scrubs, trying to get his attention. She caught and held one of his weakly grasping and flailing hands, pressing it gently between her palms until he calmed under the influence of the familiar presence.  "You're at the hospital, Stiles. The doctors need to see to these injuries, sweetheart. No one's going to hurt you. Your dad is right outside, I promise."

Stiles must have been screaming for him, although he didn't remember that. He was barely aware of whatever he was saying now, although _"no", "please", "hurts"_ , _"sorry"_ and _"don't leave"_ seemed to feature prominently.

"I won't," Melissa promised, squeezing his hand reassuringly and looking at him with eyes full of love and sorrow. "I won't leave, Stiles. I'm here with you, and I'm going to stay, okay? I know it hurts; we'll try to do something about that. You need to let us help you, Stiles, but I'm going to be _right_ here. You're not alone, sweetheart. I won't let you be alone," she promised.

Stiles relaxed under the influence of her voice, and the sedatives rushing in through the IV in his arm. Melissa had never lied to him. He believed her. So he didn't fight as darkness stole over him and took him under, clinging to the hope that he would not be alone when next he woke.

He wasn't. Stiles woke only to drift back to sleep many times after that, finding himself in a hospital bed in a small room that would have made him start to panic, except that each time, someone was in the chair beside him. His father, Melissa, or one of his friends, someone was always there. Gentle hands smoothed back his hair and pushed a straw to his heavy lips, helping him drink. Gentle voices assured him everything was okay and he could rest.

Only Stiles didn't _want_ to rest, because when he slept he was back in the basement again with Theo, or he was wandering the hospital corridors, bathed in blood that was not his own because Void had been out to play. Frequently, Stiles woke screaming. Frequently, comforting arms held him, soothing voices assuring him that everything was all right. Stiles wanted to stay there, in those arms, and not slide back into the darkness, but inevitably his weakned, healing body betrayed him, pulling him back under for another round of nightmares. 

Stiles had no sense of the passage of time, but he knew his head was starting to clear and his fever abate when for once he didn't wake up in a panic. Instead, he simply opened his eyes, confused for a moment, but then quickly aware of where he was. His father was dozing in a chair by the bed and Lydia was in the other chair reading a magazine. Mason was on a coffee run and showed up with beverages for all the non-patients in the room a minute or two later. Everyone else, it turned out, was out looking for Theo.

Stiles felt his gut clench at the mention of the name and his heart-beat quickened. He did not feel well, although whatever was pumping into him through the IV in his arm was doing a good job of making him feel more numb than in actual pain at the moment. It was also filling his head with cotton and making him easily fascinated by shiny things like Lydia's little gold earrings or the buttons on some incomprehensible piece of medical equipment next to his bed.

Stiles had a lot of questions, although trying to get them out in an understandable fashion was at first difficult for him. He was not mentally at his best and was having a hard time wrapping his head around the reality in which he now found himself, versus the reality that he had previously thought to exist. He thought he finally understood what it must be like to wind up in an alternate reality. Wonderful, but confusing as hell was what it was, although a good part of that was probably the very strong meds and pain killers they had him doped up on.

It also didn't help that everybody kept telling him he should just rest and they could talk about all this later. He had _been_ resting, he was _sick_ of resting, it was not fucking _restful._ He had thought they were _dead,_ he'd really believed they were _all_ _dead._ In his nightmares, this was still the reality and he had no basis on which to try to reject that version of events. He needed _reasons_ , needed to _understand_ what was going before he could begin to relax and accept that he might actually be safe and that the nightmares were only nightmares.  

Finally, the others seemed to understand that, and the story came out little by little, told in gentle tones attempting to keep him from getting too excited or anxious.

Theo had apparently not been giving any of them the complete truth about anything. He had indeed twisted the truth about Donovan around until everyone thought that's why Stiles had disappeared, but they'd never stopped looking for him and had never stopped being concerned and suspicious about the way he had simply dropped off the map. 

Stiles tensed at this news, his fingers digging anxiously into the blankets. "I-I didn't mean ... _he_ attacked _me,_ " he murmured faintly, unable to look at anyone. His voice was hoarse and scratchy from his ordeal. He didn't have strength to protest his innocence, especially when he was far, _far_ from innocent. He swallowed, throat feeling ragged and tight.

"We know, Stiles," his father said gently, laying his hand over Stiles' in a reassuring gesture. "I always suspected that; despite what the evidence suggested. I knew in my heart that if any of it was true, it had to have been self defense, and at the end Theo he ... told me, the truth, about what really happened. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry that asshole Donovan went after you because of me, and that you had to deal with what happened as a result. It wasn't your fault."

Stiles gave a small nod, not really wanting to deal with that situation or those feelings right now. It was enough to know he wasn't actually wanted for murder anymore. That was good.

"When did Theo tell you?" he wanted to know, already suspecting he knew the answer. _Probably the same day he acquired that bloody jacket._ Stiles suspected Theo wouldn't have spilled that information except to rub it in the older man's face before he died.

He was right. This was another thing Theo had lied about. He _had_ _tried_ to use Liam to kill Scott, but things had not quite gone according to plan. The first hitch had come when Lydia sensed Scott's impending death ahead of time. Theo dealt with this by knocking her out and locking her up in the Doctor's underground lab. Stiles tried not to shudder, remembering his own time there.  

Theo had manipulated Liam into thinking Scott was Hayden's only chance at survival, that he was intentionally letting her die, and Liam's only choice was to kill Scott so he had the power to save her himself. He used Liam's lack of control against him, instigating a fight between the two. Scott, having been critically weakened ahead of time by wolfsbane poisoning and hampered by _not_ wanting to kill Liam had been seriously injured, but the plot ultimately failed when Mason helped Liam come back to himself in time.

Theo wasn't there to stop Mason from interfering, because he'd gotten sidetracked dealing with the Sheriff, who had confronted him about some holes he'd discovered in Theo's account of his whereabouts and actions both the night that Donovan died, and the night that Stiles had disappeared. Too anxious to get back to the others to attempt to employ anymore lies, Theo had simply lashed out at him, seriously injuring the Sheriff and then taunting him with the truth about his son's innocence. He had delighted in telling John as he bled out that Stiles too was dead, and that he had died knowing his father and everyone else he cared about thought him a murderer.

The Sheriff did not remember Theo taking his jacket; he must have done that after the older man blacked out. Theo had had every reason to believe the human would die when he left him, but thankfully for the Sheriff, someone else had put in a timely reappearance and kept that from happening. 

Derek Hale had returned to Beacon Hills after catching wind of what Braden was working on with Malia. He had spoken with Malia about everything going on since the appearance of the Dread Doctors and had become increasingly troubled by what he learned. Stiles wasn't sure the exact train of events, since the people telling him the story weren't privy to all the details, but as he understood it, Derek, Malia and Braden had teamed up to check some things out, which in some way ultimately led to Derek and Malia finding his father in time to get him to the hospital before he died. Details or no details, Stiles was just insanely glad that that they had.

Theo had gone back to Liam and Scott to find Liam gone, Mason there, and Scott severely injured but not dead. In a fit of pique, he'd killed Scott himself and taken off, leaving Mason with the body. Mason had called Melissa, who had eventually been able to revive Scott.

Meanwhile, Kira had been following up on her own on some information she'd been able to tease out of the Dread Doctors novel after her mother had helped her figure out her inability to read it. She thought she'd found a possible way around the trick guarding the Doctors' hideout, which was designed to make people walk in endless circles. She'd tried to get in touch with someone else to check it out with her, but no one was answering their phones, so she went alone. Apparently her fox spirit had enabled her to see through the trick that kept you out, and she had indeed been able to penetrate the lab.

She'd been about to creep back out again and go tell everybody ... when she almost literally stumbled upon a groggy Lydia, just waking up from the near concussion that Theo had given her.

At almost the same time, Theo had returned. At Lydia's urging, Kira hid, both of them wanting to see what he was up to and what he would do next. Theo was amped and edgy, almost manic. He'd filled some kind of huge syringe and then come at Lydia. They weren't sure what he'd intended to do, but it had clearly seemed harmful, so Kira had jumped him first and a fight ensued.

Kira had managed to injure him fairly seriously, but then Theo took a hit from the syringe he'd filled earlier. Not only did he mend almost instantly, he also, as Lydia had succinctly put it, "went rage monster."  Kira was injured badly, but she managed to stab Theo, driving her sword through his body and into the wall, using it to temporarily pin him while she and Lydia fled for their lives.

On their way out, Lydia grabbed the syringe, both wanting to keep Theo from easily using anymore of it when he came after them, and because it seemed like it might be a good idea to find out what it was.

Kira was limping and bleeding badly, Lydia supporting her and using her phone in a vain attempt to contact someone, _anyone_ for help. Theo had almost overtaken them again, but Deputy Parrish, being the only person Lydia _had_ managed to reach, showed up outside just as they were stumbling free of the tunnels and for some reason, Theo had backed off and disappeared when he'd seen him. The deputy's gun would have been no deterrent, not after the damage they'd already seen Theo shrug off, but Lydia said she suspected it had something to do with the hell hound thing that they didn't entirely understand yet.

It turned out that the syringe they'd stolen contained some pretty bizarre stuff, but whatever it was _intended_ to be, they had, by dumb luck more than design, ended up being able to use it to resuscitate Hayden and pull her back from the edge of death. It seemed to have acted like a kind of cure of sorts for the fatal breakdown the Doctors had caused in her. She was struggling a little, Lydia admitted. There were side effects and she seemed somehow different now, but they were all trying to be supportive.

Stiles absorbed all this as if in a daze, the information flowing over him as he tried to make any of it feel real. He supposed that Lydia's story explained how Theo had gotten Kira's sword, at least. It must have reverted to belt form on its own at some point after he'd gotten it free. Stiles looked down at his hands. His wrists were wrapped in bandages because of the damage done to them by having been held so long in chains and having to support his weight, but thanks to Theo's tending, his hands looked eerily unblemished and pristine, given when he knew had happened not so long ago.

Dark guilt and unease wormed in his gut. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about what he had done. It put a damper on his hesitant feelings of relief and joy. He was free... but _should_ he be free? Stiles couldn't think about it right now. Couldn't look directly at the pain inside him, it was like looking into the sun, only in reverse.

He wondered why Theo had lied to him about the pack being dead. Maybe Theo had believed that Scott and his father _were_ dead at the time, given what he'd now learned. Maybe he'd simply expanded on that for the purposes of creating more emotional devastation, since his ultimate goal had been to push Stiles over the edge. A goal in which he'd succeeded.

"Stiles? Maybe you should just rest a little now, okay? This is a lot to take in all at once," Lydia suggested with concern, making Stiles realize he'd spaced out on them, his breathing starting to accelerate as he stared down at his hands.

"N-no, no, it's okay," Stiles assured, shaking his head and rubbing a hand down his face. It wasn't okay. He wasn't okay. But he was sitting here with people he'd thought he'd lost, reveling in knowing that they were _alive_ and well ... and that meant he was the closest to okay he'd been in a really long time. It was so, _so_ good to just be here, just to see them.

"How did Theo become an alpha, if he didn't get it from Scott?" he asked, frowning at the question that had been bothering him. His head was starting to hurt and he was thirsty. He did actually kind of want to just sleep now, but he still had so many questions, things he needed to know ... and he didn't want to sleep. He really didn't.  

"We're not entirely sure about that," Mason admitted. "But we think it's artificial, something the Doctors did to him. Best guess, after failing in his attempt to get Scott's juice, he somehow got them to give him an upgrade so he could have the alpha status he wanted. He came back later, you know. Came back to the rest of us, trying to convince us how much we'd need an alpha now, with ours gone." The boy made a face. "Like _that_ was ever an option, even if Scott _had_ been dead. We kept the fact that he'd survived under wraps for a little while though. Scott was pretty damn tapped out after what happened; we didn't want Theo going after him again until he got his strength back. Ditto with Sheriff S. So, some of us played along, a little."

That had probably been Theo's period of good mood then, when he thought everything was going well. His mood had likely soured when he'd finally found out that Scott was still alive, and the rejection of the rest of the pack became clear. Some of the things he'd been ranting about when he beat Stiles made more sense in that light.

Stiles closed his eyes, trying not to remember that. Trying not to remember the angry sound of Theo's voice, the sharp, terrifying little whoosh of each incoming blow, and the unending, unbearable pain...

Stiles started hard when something touched his lips. His eyes flew open, fear racing up his spine until he realized it was just a straw. His father was holding his water glass up for him, urging him to take a drink. He did and then laid back against the pillows, feeling incredibly drained for having not done a damn thing. His father's hand felt cool as he brushed Stiles' hair back from his forehead in that way he did when he was checking his temperature.

Knowing he was seconds away from a sterner injunction to rest, Stiles spoke up quickly, pressing his eyes closed against the dizzy spin his head was starting to take. "If 'hey could do that, make him an alpha ... why'd he even bother with Scott?" he asked, voice strained and slurring a little. "Why not just have them do it in 'he firs' place?"

"We suspect, because he had to pay a pretty high price for it," Lydia said, her voice quiet and lilting, like she was telling a bed time story. "As best we've been able to figure out, the Doctors are trying to initiate something called a Wild Hunt here in Beacon Hills. Shh, no, I'll go into what that is later, right now, all that matters is that it involves a grand show down between two powerful creatures. We aren't sure why they want this, or what they're up to, but we believe ..." she hesitated. "We believe Parrish is one part of their equation, because one of the creatures needs to be a hell hound. The other, we're not sure about, but it seems to be what they've been trying to create all along. Theo's a chimera, Stiles. I'm not sure if you knew that, but he's not a natural wolf, and he's not only wolf, he's also coyote. He was one of their early successes, and we think that in exchange for the power to obtain his goals, Theo agreed to become their guinea pig again. Agreed to become their second monster and play out whatever role it is they need filled."

"Dude's insane," Mason muttered with feeling, then stopped himself, casting a guilty glance at Stiles as if realizing that Stiles knew that better than anyone.

Stiles had nothing to say to that. He supposed that whatever the Doctors had done to Theo had increased his instability, which explained why he'd become so much less predictable and more violent, the usual amount of method absent from the madness.

"How'd you find me?" Stiles mumbled, feeling so, so tired. He let his head loll against the pillows.

"Lydia felt you," his father's voice was hushed, like he was trying not to wake a sleeper. "After what Theo told me, I ... we thought you were dead." The older Stilinski paused to swallow. "But Lydia had a ... premonition? I'm not sure what you call it, but she ... felt you," he hedged uncertainly.

"I thought I felt your death," Lydia admitted quietly, explaining his father's reluctance. "Only I felt it like it was happening right _then,_ not in the past. There was water, like you were drowning, and I heard ... I heard Theo's voice, shouting at you to breathe. I didn't know what it meant, but it had to mean something. We looked for you," she whispered. "I tried to find you, or your body ... but the feeling was gone. I felt it flare again, a couple days ago, only different. I didn’t hear anything, just felt ..." she shook her head, rubbing her arms. "Anyway, I was able to follow it that time. I'm ... I'm really glad we found _you_ , and not..." _not your body,_ she didn't say it, but it was clearly what she meant. "I'm so glad," she whispered.

"Me too," Stiles murmured with a faint hint of wryness. He supposed Lydia had felt him slipping towards death at the end, as she had apparently felt it when he'd tried to commit suicide. He wasn't about to comment on either of those things right now, though.

"Okay, enough," his father said quietly, but firmly. "Rest for a little while now, Stiles."

Stiles was too exhausted and sleepy to rebel. Sleep was stealing over him whether he wanted it or not and he slipped into it without protest after a few more minutes.

++++++++

Sheriff John Stilinski sat beside his son, watching him sleep. Stiles had always looked younger when he was resting, putting John in mind of many nights of tucking in and quiet bedtime kisses when he came home too late and Stiles was already asleep.

He loved this boy with his whole heart, and it broke him to his soul to see him damaged so badly. He hadn't yet asked Stiles what happened. Hadn't let anyone near him to try to take a statement or ask necessary but insensitive questions. Being Sheriff came with a few perks, and nobody was talking to Stiles until Stiles was good and ready to talk. It wasn't like there was any kind of time issue. They already _knew_ who was responsible, and the pack was better suited for the search than his own men, no matter how wrong that felt.

John tried not to think about Theo, because if he did he was going to go out there right this minute and try to hunt him down himself ... and _not_ so he could arrest him.

Knowing anger would do him no good at this moment, John focused back on his son. Stiles needed him and that should be his focus. Stiles was going to need all of them, and probably decades of therapy, after what he'd been through. The doctors had talked with him about it in hushed, compassionate but professional tones after they'd finished working on Stiles. John had asked Melissa to stay for that conversation, initially wanting her medical opinion of what they said, but ending up needing her emotional support for what he learned.

His boy had been _brutalized_ in every sense of the word. Stiles was dehydrated and malnourished. His injuries were extensive and his body showed signs and scars consistent with long term physical and sexual abuse. He had been restrained, he had beaten, and he had been raped. Regularly. Viciously. Repeatedly. Probably for _months._ The Sheriff had barely been able to absorb the horror as the doctors quietly cataloged Stiles' injuries and their implications. He tried to retreat into analytical, police-mode and treat this like he would with any other victim ... but he couldn’t, because this victim was his _son,_ his _baby,_ and he couldn't detach and see Stiles as anything else.

He'd gone back to the scene, to that little hell hole of a prison where Stiles had apparently been held ever since he'd disappeared. He'd tried to treat it like a crime scene and assess it accordingly, but all he could do was imagine Stiles trapped down there, alone and helpless at the mercy of his abuser. All he could see was Stiles lying limp and bloodied in Scott's arms when he'd made it down those stairs. All he could hear was his little boy's voice against his chest when he carried him out of there, sobbing and pleading brokenly not to be punished, insisting he'd behave, begging for the chance to "be good" for him. 

John wanted to go kill someone. He wanted to drink a gallon of whiskey until he couldn't hear that hopeless, pleading voice anymore.  He did neither. Instead, he sat by Stiles' bed and did what he never did: let everyone else handle the bigger picture, because _this_ was where he was needed. He couldn't erase the past months, he couldn't undo the horrible things that had been done, but he could be there to hold Stiles every time the boy woke up screaming, or sobbing, or apologizing hysterically over and over until he could finally be made to believe that John wasn't going to hurt him. He could be there to hold Stiles, and tell him he was safe, every time. _That_ , he could do.

It wasn't enough, but it was something.

++++++++

As Stiles began to spend more time conscious, the fact that Theo was still on the loose began to worry him more and more. _Did Theo know he was missing? Did he know where he was? Would he come for him?_ The anxiety made him throw up and sent him into frequent panic attacks, prompting the doctors to put him on stronger and stronger anti-anxiety medication. Stiles never told them the cause of his distress, but they seemed smart enough to figure it out on their own. They were understanding and reassuring, sometimes telling Stiles what he was feeling was normal and that he was safe, that the person who had hurt him couldn't get to him now.

Stiles knew better. He knew in his heart that Theo could get to him anywhere and would never willingly let him go. So he lived in silent fear, Theo showing up in his hospital room every night in his dreams.

His father's near constant presence the first two days felt like the only thing that kept him sane, but his dad couldn't continue to be there every waking moment indefinitely. He _did_ have duties that needed tending and Stiles worried about the toll the constant vigil was taking on him. The rest of the pack started taking turns spelling him, one of them always on hand. It was very nice of them, but the feeling of constantly being watched started to wear on Stiles in its own way. He didn't want to be alone, but after so many months of being alone and seeing no one but Theo, the sudden number and diversity of people was almost a little overwhelming, and it was draining sometimes, because he rarely knew what to do or say to whoever was with him.

Mostly, they talked about inconsequential things. It wasn't exactly awkward; it was just that Stiles felt like they were talking to somebody else. Somebody he used to be. He felt kind of guilty, like he was lying to them somehow; like what they had gotten back was not what they had expected and sooner or later they'd realize that and leave him. They didn't, though, and as more time passed, that feeling slowly started to fade a little.

As much as Stiles loved Scott, his visits were some of the hardest at first, because Scott seemed to feel so damn guilty about the whole thing that he was practically ill with it, radiating distress that ran so deep it was almost physical. He apologized repeatedly for not finding Stiles sooner, for failing him and for not seeing through Theo for so long. Finally Stiles had to tell him to stop. He didn't blame Scott; he didn't blame anybody but Theo, and himself. He never had. Stiles had a feeling Scott wasn't letting go of his guilt anytime soon, but at least he wasn't apologizing anymore and his visits became more pleasant. Even if Scott always looked like he could use about a hundred years of sleep.

Once, Scott had been so tired he was nodding off in the chair, mid-sentence, and Stiles had impulsively told him he should come lay down on the bed with him instead. Scott was too sleepy to think of any reason not to accept, so he had. Stiles hadn't been this physically close to someone since Theo, and had worried for a minute that it been a colossally bad idea on his part, but he'd shared a bed with Scott so many times since childhood, he found he just couldn't be afraid of him, and it had in fact ended up feeling very comfortable and safe instead.

On one of her visits, Kira told Stiles the news that they'd found the pieces of her sword elsewhere in Theo's hideout, and that with her mother's instruction she'd been able to use her thunder kitsune abilities to forge it back together again. Stiles was glad. He was also glad that she hadn't brought it with her and he didn't have to see it again just yet. Kira was obviously curious as to how it had gotten broken, but Stiles did not feel like sharing and she did not press.

Everyone was being very good about not pressing. He had gone over the rough outline of what had happened with his father because he knew the police would need a statement, but although everyone told him they were there if he wanted to talk, none of them prodded him to do so, and he was grateful. Maybe he should talk about it, but he didn't want to. Not just yet.

Talking about it meant confessing the things he'd done, and as much as Stiles knew he should, and would eventually _need_ to do so ... he couldn't bring himself to face it. He couldn't bring himself to burst the happy bubble of illusion everyone had that he was someone who deserved their love and support. He needed it, needed _them_ intensely, even if he didn't deserve them. The thought of losing everyone again was as truly unbearable as it was inevitable. Sometimes Stiles pretended to be asleep, hiding beneath the covers, curled up on his side where no one could see him, and just cried and cried.

Maybe ... maybe in a while he'd be braver. Maybe once he wasn't in so much pain, was a little more healed and not on so many meds; maybe then he'd be strong enough to do the right thing. 

His friends tried to keep him out of the loop of whatever chaos was going on outside with the Doctors and that Wild Hunt thing they'd mentioned, but he could tell things were not going well. Everyone looked exhausted, sometimes visibly battered or limping when they came to visit, although they were always full of smiles and reassurances for him.  It was hard for him, being on the sidelines like this and not in the midst of the action. He felt more an outsider than ever, but there was clearly no way he was of any use to anyone now.

Malia let slip to him that they had encountered Theo several times since finding Stiles, but always in creature form. Theo had changed. His full shift had transformed into something much larger and more monstrous. She didn't say it, but Stiles could tell that none of those encounters had gone well for the pack.

Lydia set a ring of mountain ash around Stiles' bed, giving him a little bag of the powder and a bottle of compressed air so he could easily break and reform the section of the line closest to him to allow his friends across if he needed to. It was an enhanced kind that was supposed to be more effective against chimeras. They hadn't actually been able to test it yet, and Lydia told him so, but even if it was only a placebo effect, the small amount of control over his surroundings made Stiles feel a little better anyway. He wasn't sure how exactly they explained the ash to the hospital staff, but somehow they must have because none of the nurses that came to check on him tried to clean it up, although a few gave it distinctly odd looks.

Derek gave him a knife to keep under his pillow. He'd seen how much trouble Stiles was having sleeping, had calmed him through a couple of episodes when Stiles awoke terrified, convinced that Theo had come for him.  The knife was a switchblade, with fresh runes scribing the handle and the blade. Derek handled it with gloves and told him that it would kill anything werewolf or werewolf-adjacent, even chimeras.

Stiles turned the sturdy, folded blade over in his hands. He shouldn't feel so comforted by holding a weapon, not after the things he'd done, but something about it loosened a little corner of the anxious knot in his stomach. He was so sick of feeling helpless and terrified. But ...

Reluctantly, Stiles tried to hand it back. "I... I probably shouldn't. I could hurt somebody," he whispered, gaze dropping guiltily. He couldn't trust himself. What if he had a nightmare and freaked out on whoever tried to wake him up?  _What if void took over?_  Stiles shivered, feeling desolate, dirty and torn.

Derek gently closed Stiles' hands around the handle, holding them between his own. "You won't," he said with such utter certainty it made Stiles start and look up at him in skeptical confusion.

"You can't know that," Stiles shook his head. Knowing he should have already told them. Knowing that deep down, he was a monster.

"I can," Derek said simply. "I saw you with Liam; I know what you did for Malia, and for Scott. You knew they could hurt you, but you never ran. Your faith grounded them. You just need to trust yourself as much as you were willing to trust them."

"I can't," Stiles murmured hoarsely, his throat aching intensely and his eyes stinging. "You don't know what I've done. What I am. You don't _know!"_ It came out angry, almost accusing, although he wasn't angry with _Derek_.

Derek was unruffled by the outburst and did not pull away. "No," he said quietly. "I don't.  I don't know what you've been through, Stiles. I'll listen if you want to tell me."

Stiles bit his lip and dropped his head, looking away in a clear indication that he did not.

"But you don't have to," Derek continued in the same, even tones. Not placating, just quiet and honest. "It doesn't matter, because I already know what you've done, and what you are. You're the person who stood by his best friend even though it pulled him into a world of hurt. You're the person who spent _hours_ struggling to keep a man he didn't even _like_ from drowning," he gave a rueful smile at that one. "You're the person who tries to fix things other people don't even realize are broken. You're a good person, Stiles. That's what you are."

Stiles swallowed and sniffed, unable to look at Derek for more than a few seconds at a time because he could see the older man _meant_ what he said and he didn't know how to deal with that. Derek was just wrong of course, but ... but it didn't entirely feel that way for a minute. He rubbed his eyes with his arm, not liking to cry in front of the other man like this.

"I've hurt people, Stiles," Derek said quietly. "I've killed people and I've caused them to be killed. There is blood on my hands that will never go away. I'm not going to lie and say that you ever completely stop feeling guilty, but whatever's hurting you right now Stiles, it will hurt less someday," he promised.

"I'm giving you this," Derek squeezed Stiles' hand where it still rested over the handle of the knife. "Because I trust you and because I know what it feels like to lie in bed every night certain that a monster is going to come for you. Laura and I didn't move clear across the country after the fire just to escape the _memories_ , Stiles. I spent a long time thinking that any day Kate or some other hunter would track us down and show up to finish the job. I knew I'd deserve that after what I'd done, but I was still afraid. I kept a fire extinguisher by my bed for years. But I was a werewolf. I had claws and teeth; I knew I could at least defend myself if someone showed up in my room at night. I was born this way, Stiles. I didn't realize how much I unconsciously counted on having those options and how unsafe and powerless it felt not to have them until last year.

"You don't have claws, that's why I had this made for you. Just ... to _have_." Derek didn't seem entirely able to articulate his reasons, but Stiles understood what he was trying to say.  

He turned the knife over again slowly in his hands. It was unexpected that Derek of all people would understand his intense, horrible feeling of helplessness, although his method of trying to help was perhaps a little unorthodox. Stiles wasn't sure how smart it was to give a weapon to someone who was basically a hot mess, who had tried to kill themselves previously and probably had something like PTSD or whatever ... but it was a very Derek thing to do, and oddly, Stiles found both the gesture and the reasons behind it comforting.  The fact that it _did_ seem like such a blatantly bad idea, and yet somehow Derek trusted him enough to think it _wasn't_ , was oddly reassuring in some way.

"You know switchblades are illegal in California, right?" Stiles asked, mustering a faintly wry expression as he looked up at Derek.

Derek shrugged expressively. "Well I assumed you would hide it, not keep it on the nightstand." 

Stiles actually laughed, which felt strangely good. "Oh my God, Derek. This is probably the most ill advised gift I've ever gotten." 

"You don't want it, give it back," Derek said, doing his exasperated grumpy face, but not really seeming to mean it.

Stiles smiled and tucked the folded blade under his pillow by way of answer.  "Thanks," he said quietly.

Over the next few days Stiles did not, in fact, stab anyone in the middle of a night terror, or blank out and become homicidal for no good reason. Those facts were oddly comforting to him, as if having the ability to do harm and choosing not to do it made him somehow less afraid of himself. The nightmares didn't go away, but his reactions became less violent over time.

Stiles had been in the hospital for a little over a week, when the nightmare finally became real.

It was a stormy evening. Stiles' room had no window and there were too many floors between him and the roof for him to hear the rain, but Stiles had gotten good at reading little signs in his surroundings. He saw at least two people with wet umbrellas go past the open door to his room, and the lights flickered occasionally, accompanied by a distant rumbling sound that could have been people rolling bowling balls about on the floor above, but was probably actually thunder.

He and his father were watching a baseball game on TV. During a commercial, his father went to get them snacks, and, Stiles suspected, to make a phone call or two to check in on things happening in the outside world, things which he tried annoyingly hard to keep from Stiles.

Movement in the doorway a few moments later drew Stiles' gaze. He started to ask his father what he forgot ... only it wasn't his father in the doorway.

Stiles froze, his stomach going completely icy as his heart jumped up into his throat. His breath caught and his vision wavered, terror flooding him like a paralyzing electric current.

Theo stood in the doorway. His clothes were damp, his short hair glistening with raindrops. There was something _off_ about his stance, about the way he moved and stood. He leaned on the doorframe and for a moment there was something unreadable on his face as he regarded Stiles, then his expression hardened into a smile, his eyes cold. "Hey, babe. Did you miss me?"


	7. I'm gonna lay you in the ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it has been a wild, wild ride my friends! Thank you for sharing it with me and for all your awesome, wonderful, stupendous, amazing, delightful, marvelous, _I'm-running-out-of-adjectives_ reviews that have given me life, made me squee with joy and kept me going and inspired to finish this little saga! You all truly are the best and I can't thank you enough for sharing your lovely thoughts and feedback with me. I love you all!!! (●♡∀♡)

Seeing Theo was a shock, but not a surprise. Stiles realized he had felt sure all along that sooner or later, Theo would come; that he couldn't ever  _really_ escape. He tried to breathe and couldn't. Head spinning, Stiles clutched the blankets beside him, fingers knotting in the fabric as he finally forced himself to gulp convulsively for air.

"T-Theo," he croaked, somewhat proud of himself that he didn't just start screaming. Theo's eyes had morphed to red and the fingers casually curled around the doorframe were tipped with talons. If Stiles started screaming or pressed the call button, he'd only be summoning some poor hapless orderly to their death.

Theo crossed the room while Stiles was still struggling to breathe and to keep the spots dancing before his eyes from joining together into an obscuring darkness. The chimera stepped over the mountain ash with a flicker of amusement, toeing his boot through the line.  

"Trying to keep me out, Stiles? That's not very nice. Didn't they tell you this doesn't work on me?" he asked, his eyes fixed intently on the boy on the bed, like a lion regarding its prey. His arm moved faster than sight and the next thing Stiles knew he was jammed back against the pillow and the wall behind him, Theo's hand pressing painfully into his windpipe, claws digging into the side of his throat.

There was an empty, vicious _nothingness_ in Theo's blazing eyes that was both disturbing and terrifying.

Stiles swallowed convulsively, his throat working under Theo's hand, his body all but paralyzed with fear that had nothing to do with the threat to his life. His hands fumbled, grabbing onto Theo's arm, hanging onto him, but not fighting. Theo's sudden appearance and the anger on his face terrified Stiles so badly it jolted him out of reality for a moment. He _knew_ he was in the hospital, but mentally he was back in the basement again, and his well trained instincts told him to be good. _Be good, don't make things worse, don't earn more punishment than necessary._ He knew he should apologize and beg for forgiveness, but he couldn't do it. There was an unexpected anger beneath his fear. _It wasn’t his fault. Theo was the one who had broken his word._

Theo leaned in close, his face hovering few inches from Stiles, his warm breath brushing the human's face. Stiles was terrified and yet it wasn't fear that clenched around his chest in a sudden, strangely painful vice grip, Theo's touch and his presence waking things in Stiles that he didn't want to acknowledge existed.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Theo whispered harshly, his claws biting into Stiles' neck, drawing blood. "Did you think you could run from me? That there was _anywhere_ you could hide?"

Stiles was trembling all over. "I didn't _run,_ " he croaked, a mixture of fear and sudden indignation making his voice quaver. "You - you _left_ me!" he blurted shakily, not even sure where the words were coming from, much less the sudden spike of angry and strangely betrayed feelings that came with them. Everything inside him was a churning, whirling mass of conflicting emotions and terror. "You said you'd never leave me, but I waited and waited and you didn't come back!"

Theo's expression changed abruptly, the accusation actually seeming to draw him up short. He blinked, brows furrowing, the manic wrongness in his eyes fading a little. "I..." Theo blinked again, as if he were trying to blink away the burning wolf eyes. He couldn't seem to manage it, but his expression became a little less lethal. He let go of Stiles' throat. Was that _regret_ Stiles saw flicker across his face?  "I know, I'm sorry," Theo said quietly, hand more gentle now as he caressed the side of Stiles' face.

Ironically, the gentle touch rattled Stiles more than the violent one hand. The reality of his situation and where he was was starting to seep back into his consciousness. Stiles flinched away, but Theo's hand just followed him, fingers caressing and mapping Stiles' jaw and cheekbone and playing into his hair. Tears rolled down Stiles' cheeks, but he didn't try to escape again. He was too conditioned to not offer resistance, too accustomed to trying to not make Theo angry ... but _Stiles_ was angry. He was angry with Theo and with _himself_ for his own helpless uselessness and for the strange welter of confusing feelings that Theo's presence was making him feel.

"I was dying, I thought you weren't coming back," he whispered, furious, confused and still crying. He was completely shocked by how truly upset he realized he was about the desertion. It wasn't like he'd _wanted_ to ever see Theo again ... not ... not _really_ , and yet still, he felt abandoned. It was stupid beyond words, but there it was.

Theo wiped his tears. "I didn't mean to," he soothed. "Things got..." his eyes fluttered briefly closed and he swallowed. "Out of hand. I wasn't myself for a while. When I came down and realized how much time had passed ... I was so worried about you, babe. It was horrible, finding you gone, but I'm not mad," he murmured, despite the fact that he had very obviously been completely furious a moment ago. "I'm glad you're okay. I'll fix this, Stiles. You'll see, I'll fix everything." Theo caught Stiles' wrists between his hands, trapping Stiles' arms against his chest and pulling Stiles up to him as he leaned down and kissed him.

Stiles shivered, letting his mouth fall open, letting Theo take what he wanted, too afraid to move as the other boy leaned into him, the werewolf's claws digging lightly into his arms. To his numb horror and eternal shame, he realized that some part of him _had_ missed Theo. Some part of him he had no control over actually _wanted_ his touch. The rest of him didn't, though. The rest of him was petrified, angry and despairing because he'd had a little taste of hope, a little taste of the dream of being free and Theo was here to take it away again. He thought of the switchblade under his pillow behind him, but Theo had his hands and Stiles wondered if he'd really have the strength to try to drive it into him anyway, after ... after what had happened, last time.

Was the cost of being free of Theo that he had to become a monster to do it? Was that the choice being given him? Had that always been the choice? Be the helpless victim who got hurt, or be the one with power and do the hurting? A soft sob stuck in Stiles' throat. 

Theo pulled back from the kiss. "Missed you," he murmured. There was something almost vulnerable in his face. The mindless rage that had animated him a moment ago had calmed but the strange _wrongness_ Stiles had noticed before was still apparent in every motion he made. Something was off about Theo, something was very wrong with him. It was obvious to someone as intimately familiar with him as Stiles was. Whatever the Doctors had done to him, it was doing the chimera no favors.

Stiles' hands felt sticky. He looked down and found that they were stained with black blood. Theo's dark shirt wasn't just wet from the rain, Stiles realized; he was _bleeding_.

Stiles stared at the ichor for a long moment, then back up at Theo.

"Come on," Theo said, using Stiles' hands to draw him towards the edge of the bed. "Let's go." It was an order, not an invitation. Theo was used to telling him what to do and expected obedience.

Stiles did obey. He gripped the edge of the bed, his fingers smearing blood onto the sheets as he pushed himself upright. His legs felt weak. His body still healing and he was shaking like a leaf, making his balance tenuous. He wavered on his feet, struggling uncertainly with the IV tubing and the cannula in his arm.

Theo slid up behind him, pressing against his back as he reached around Stiles, helping him slip the IV free. He buried his face in the side of Stiles' neck, inhaling deeply. " _God,_ I need you," Theo murmured, rocking against him.

Stiles' mind blanked at the contact, his stomach clenching as a thousand memories assaulted him. Every inch of his body knew every inch of Theo's. He knew how gentle those hands could be, and how very, very ruthless. Memories of pleasure and of mind shredding pain warred inside him, making Stiles feel ill. His trembling knees gave out abruptly and he lurched forward onto the bed, just catching himself on his arms as he face planted into the pillow. 

Theo rolled him over and kissed him again, the action strangely needy, like he couldn't stop touching Stiles even though he knew they needed to hurry, even though he was smearing blood across the front of the human's hospital gown. There was something in his face, something in his eyes. Theo looked strangely lost, like whatever was happening to him was consuming him. He clutched at Stiles like an anchor, gazing at him like the human meant _home._

There was something deeply and uniquely painful about that that Stiles couldn't begin to explain. He hated Theo with everything in his being, and yet when he saw that expression in the other boy's face, he felt a completely unexpected, unwanted and totally idiotic little flutter of something like compassion.

Stiles pushed at Theo's shoulder with one hand, urging him off him. "We... we should go," Stiles croaked, keeping his other fist clenched at his side as Theo straightened up. Stiles rolled painfully back to his feet, still swaying.  His father's jacket was draped over the back of the chair beside the bed and Stiles shrugged it on to cover his now bloodied hospital gown, shoving his hands into the pockets. The irony of this attire was not lost on him, not at all. He couldn't stop shaking.

Stiles glanced fearfully towards the door, his pulse racing. "Theo, we should go," he said again, shuffling painfully in that direction and waving his arm around in clear indication that he was looking for someone to lean on.

Stiles was terrified that any moment now his father was going to return. Theo may be injured, but Stiles could practically feel the wild, unstable energy rolling off him. The chimera was two steps from losing control as it was. If his father confronted him, which he surely would, Theo would kill him. Theo would kill anyone who got in his way or tried to take Stiles away from him right now, Stiles knew that as a certainty. Stiles had to get him out of here before he became the inadvertent cause of turning the hospital into a blood bath ... _again._

Theo obligingly took Stiles' arm, sliding it around his waist and wrapping his own around Stiles' shoulders; supporting him as they moved swiftly out into the hall. Thankfully, there was no one about at that moment and they made it into an elevator without being noticed. 

As the floors dropped away, Stiles had a moment to reflect grimly that he was probably the only kidnap victim in the history of ever who was hoping _not_ to have anyone stop and question the abduction in progress. Maybe that was weird, but despite his terror a strange, numb kind of calm had started settling over him. Was it because all this somehow felt inevitable? Or because the stress of being in Theo's hands again was pushing him back into disassociating? He didn't know. Maybe it didn't matter. He clutched the object he'd secreted into the pocket of his dad's jacket tightly in his fist.

They exited the elevator not on the main floor, but on the second floor where there were likely to be fewer people. Stiles knew the hospital very well. Silently, he led Theo down the hall, around a corner and into a stairwell that he knew had an exit out to the parking garage. 

The sound of rain and thunder was much louder in the parking garage, the air wet and tangy with electricity. Stiles shivered, looking out into the blackness of the rainy night beyond. Like a wildly swinging yo-yo, his numbness was giving way to fear again. Tears burned unshed at the back of his eyes and his stomach churned with nausea, the reality of his situation seeping through him like poison. _He was with Theo again. Theo would take him away somewhere and he'd never get away again._

Being outdoors seemed to have an effect on Theo too, and it was not a good one. The werewolf's facial features shifted for no apparent reason and he held Stiles to him tightly, dragging him along at a swifter and swifter pace until Stiles couldn't keep up. Theo growled, jerking at him when he stumbled too much.

Stiles panted for breath, his arm dripping blood from where Theo's claws were biting into him, tearing through the sleeve of the jacket he was wearing. "Theo, wait, I-I can't... Slow down!"

Theo snarled at him, unexpectedly grabbing Stiles and slamming his back into the cement wall beside them. He looked like he was either going to hit Stiles, or fuck him right here in the parking garage.

Stiles gave a stifled little cry and flinched hard, instinctively curling into himself and dropping his head, trying not to outright cower. Theo calmed down after a moment, stepping back and shaking his head, blinking as if he were trying to clear a ringing from his ears.  Theo had been intimidating enough under normal circumstances. This half crazy, barely in control version was even more frightening.

"Do you have a car?" Stiles asked, managing to keep _most_ of the quaver out of his hoarse voice.

Theo ran his hand through his hair distractedly, rolling his shoulders and his neck like he was trying to push something back down inside him. "Car?" he murmured in confusion.

" _Yes, car,_ " Stiles said with a sudden touch of exasperation. "Unless you just came here to kill me, I assume you have some way of actually getting me out of here, and I'm gonna fall over if I try to walk much farther. Are you parked somewhere nearby?" he pressed.

Theo nodded again, more firmly this time. "Yeah. Yeah... this way." He dragged Stiles off again, moving only a little slower. He led Stiles out of the parking garage and into the wild, rainy night.

++

Sheriff Stilinski re-entered his son's hospital room, snack bags of Doritos clutched in one hand, and two soda bottles held loosely by their necks in the other. Stiles wasn't really supposed to deviate from the hospital's menu, but John was much less inclined to be a food nazi than his son. "Did I miss any-" the question died in his throat as he took in the empty bed.

In one quick moment, his trained eye took in the rumpled bed clothes, the dangling IV lines, his missing jacket and the smear of blood on the edge of the bed. The snacks he was holding dropped unnoticed to the floor.

He didn't panic, but it may have been the closest he'd ever come. He knew. Somehow, he _knew_ what had happened, even while his mind and body were going through the logical steps of calling out for Stiles and checking the small bathroom for him, just in case. The actions only confirmed his worst fears. Stiles was gone.

He'd have liked to believe that Stiles had just wandered off somewhere, Stiles was prone to impulsive actions after all... but he would have taken his IV pole, not unhooked it, wouldn't he?  And then there was the blood. Stiles hadn't been bleeding when John left him. The dark stains on the crisp white sheets suggested that whatever had happened, Stiles had probably _not_ gone voluntarily. There was only one person John could think of who would have any reason to come in here and force Stiles to leave with him. He could be wrong. He _wanted_ to be wrong, but instinct told him he wasn't.

The sheer rush of fear and anger surging through him practically made his head spin. He'd not felt so terrified since Stiles was three and he'd had lost track of him in a shopping mall. After twenty minutes of desperate searching during which he envisioned every horrible thing he'd ever encountered or learned about on the job, Stiles had eventually turned up perfectly fine, running around with a group of other children in the play area. This time, though, John did not foresee such a happy resolution.

He jogged down the hallway, looking around urgently for someone who might have seen something, trying to put himself into the mindset of an abusive, obsessive, homicidal werewolf. He hadn't been away from Stiles that long, were they still in the hospital? Had they already left? There were too many possible exits, too many places they could have gone. Security footage would tell him, but it would take much too long to obtain. He needed a quicker way to track his son, and he needed people who understood what they were up against.

John jabbed a contact on his phone and pressed the cell to his ear, not giving a crap about the hospitals' rules about where cell phones could and couldn't be used at this point. "Scott, were are you? I need you all here, _now._ It's Stiles. He's gone. I think ..." he swallowed, hating the way saying the words made them so very, horribly real. "I think Theo has him." 

++

Stiles shivered uncontrollably under the chill of the driving rain, hunching into his jacket as he struggled to keep up with Theo. The werewolf was dragging him through the small park across the street from the hospital and nearly pulling Stiles' arm off in his relentless haste. Stiles' bare feet slipped and slid on the wet grass and rough terrain. Gravel dug painfully into his soles. Stiles dragged his feet, stamped them, did everything he could to make himself bleed.

It was probably a futile effort. He was very doubtful that even werewolves could follow a trail in the rain. The elements would probably wash away the traces of their passage as if they had never been. He had to try, though. As much as he hadn't wanted his father or the innocent, defenseless humans at the hospital to get involved, Stiles _did_ want to be found. He did _want_ someone to come before it was too late; before the dark water Theo was dragging him down into again closed completely over his head and re-claimed him, probably forever this time. He wanted it desperately, but he didn't expect it. His life didn't go that way.

He glanced over his shoulder, barely even able to see the shrinking form of the hospital through the driving rain and darkness as anything other than a hulking shape decked with twinkling lights. _Had his dad already discovered him missing? Did they think he'd just wandered off, or had they seen the blood he'd wiped on the sheets? Was anyone looking for him, this time?_

A thick strand of trees obscured his view, wet branches slapping at him as Theo pulled him through them into less pretty area around the retention pond behind the park. The ground was lumpier and more uneven here, the grass patchy with dirt and gravel. They made their way around the pond and deeper into the brush, twisting and turning in the dark for what felt like quite a long time, until Stiles' sense of direction was totally shot. They broke from the trees into a deserted construction area. Mud clung to his feet as Theo dragged him through it, across a street he didn't recognize, down a slimy, dirty alley and into another strand of even more straggly and less kempt trees and grass.

Stiles knew the city pretty well, but he had no idea where they were right now. This wasn't a park, more like a large, unused tract of land. There were a couple of undeveloped lots like that around, he knew, but his head was spinning and he couldn't decide which one this was. There were fewer lights visible here.

They disappeared into the trees. Stiles could hear road traffic somewhere nearby, but he couldn't see it or decide exactly which direction it was through the confusion of the blowing wind and rolling thunder. Finally, Stiles saw the dark shape of Theo's pickup ahead of them, tucked away out of sight beneath the waving trees, well away from wherever the road was that he could hear but not see.

Of course, Theo would want to keep a low profile, Stiles realized; they had to have a BOLO out on his vehicle. Beacon Hills wasn't exactly a major metropolitan city, though. It wasn't all that hard to hide from their overworked and understaffed local police department, much as he felt disloyal for thinking so. On a night like this, the odds of being spotted were even worse.

Stiles staggered to a halt beside the truck, leaning against the cool metal and gasping for air once they finally stopped. He hadn't exerted himself this much or walked this far in ages and he felt like he'd just run a marathon. He breathed in water and coughed, spluttering. The metal of the vehicle was cold under his fingers and felt somehow menacing, although he knew that was only a trick of his mind, because he felt a horrible, creeping certainty that once he got in that truck, that would be it. He'd disappear into the night with Theo and never come back.

Stiles gulped, terror flowing through him like ice as he turned to the chimera. "Y-you're hurt," he murmured, teeth almost chattering, his hand reaching out to brush the front of Theo's shirt, even though they were both thoroughly soaked now and he could no longer distinguish blood from rain. "I-I should take a l-look."

Theo caught his wrist and jerked Stiles' hand away, fingers biting into Stiles' skin. "I'm fine."  He was still wearing his feral face and the words came out as a growl. His eyes flashed angrily at Stiles as if he didn't like being reminded of any vulnerability. "It's just a scratch. Don't get any ideas."  His hand around Stiles' wrist squeezed painfully.

Stiles winced and swallowed, shaking his head quickly. Theo kept hold of his arm, working the keys out of his wet jeans pocket with the other with some difficulty. Before Stiles could lose his nerve, he leaned into the other boy, falling ungracefully into Theo's arms and forcing the werewolf to catch him. Theo fumbled with him for a moment before he got his arms around him.

"Stiles?" the grunt was irritated, but laced with enough hints of concern that it gave Stiles hope. He knew how badly Theo could hurt him, how badly he _would_ hurt him if he realized he was trying to stall, but he had to try. He couldn't ... he couldn't do this again. He _couldn't._ He was beyond desperate.

Stiles was shaking uncontrollably. He thought he might be ill, but he burrowed into Theo's arms, clutching at him and nuzzling the chimera's wet neck. "T-Theo..." he choked, his voice cracking as he mouthed the other boy's jaw. He knew only one thing that might distract Theo from leaving immediately. Given the way the werewolf had been acting in his hospital room, he was just fucked up enough that his instincts and needs might override his common sense.

Theo shuddered slightly against him, grabbing Stiles by the shoulders and pulling him back to fix hungry, confused and suspicious eyes on him. The need was there though, hot and bright behind the burning red gaze.

Against all better judgment and the sickening churning of his own gut, Stiles tilted his head forward and kissed Theo, open mouthed and inviting. Theo stiffened, but returned the kiss without resistance, pushing into Stiles' mouth, tasting and claiming him demandingly, as if needing to reassert his ownership.

Finally Theo twisted his head away, squeezing Stiles' shoulders painfully hard as he looked at him, chest heaving and gaze deeply distrustful. "What are you doing?" he demanded, voice somewhat ragged. His control seemed to be riding on a knife's edge.

"I-I don't know," Stiles stuttered, and it wasn’t a lie. He dropped his gaze and his head, trembling in Theo's grip. "I don't know anymore." His chest hitched, voice catching and cracking. "S-sorry. I'm sorry. I just ... it ... it's been so long," he whispered. "I didn't think I'd miss you," Stiles half sobbed, head dipping lower. "D-do you get how f-fucking screwed up that is?" He gave a despairing half-laugh, the words tumbling out with much more genuinely pained confusion than he had ever meant to display.

The fire in Theo's eyes shifted a little, the honesty in Stiles' agonized perplexity perhaps more compelling to him than any pretence ever could have been. "You were made to be mine," Theo murmured, catching the back of Stiles' head and pulling him into another kiss. "I didn't know it at first either, but we were _meant_ for each other, Stiles."

Theo turned them, pushing Stiles' back up against the car. He pressed into Stiles' body, hips rolling and grinding hungrily. Hands dropping to Stiles' thighs, he dragged the wet, filmy hospital gown up Stiles' hips to his waist, exposing him. Stiles wasn't wearing underwear and he gasped into Theo's mouth as the chimera's hot hand found his dick. Despite the night, the rain and the chill, nothing about Theo was cold. He was like a furnace, radiating an unnatural level of heat as he pressed against Stiles, growling into the kiss.

Stiles felt physically ill at having Theo's hands so intimately on his body again, but his stupid dick responded eagerly enough. He was freezing cold and Theo was so warm, there was little pretence in the way he curled into him, trying to absorb some of that heat for himself. Everything felt increasingly surreal. Theo's hand slipped between his thighs, un-lubed fingers reaching back and probing him. Stiles shuddered, tears streaking down his face, invisible amid the rain. He knew he was inviting the monster to destroy him, but Theo would do that anyway. Did it matter where it happened?

He wasn't sure why, but he knew in his gut with utter, unshakable certainty that if they drove away from here, his life was over. He'd die, or he'd lose himself, and he'd never see the people he loved again. It wasn't exactly hope that drove Stiles to curl his arms around Theo's back and tangle his hands in his wet hair; Stiles wasn't capable of feeling something like that at this point. He realistically had no idea what he was trying to accomplish here. He simply knew that he couldn't face the future ahead of him, and he'd do anything to try to change or delay it, even sell his soul to the devil. Not that he actually _had_ any soul left that the devil didn't already own.

After a minute, Theo yanked him away from the truck. He roughly stripped Stiles out of the jacket he was wearing and threw it down on the ground nearby. Tearing the thin hospital gown off with his claws, he shoved Stiles, naked, to the wet earth.  The ground was hard, the patchy grass cold and wet and slick against Stiles' skin as Theo laid him out on his back atop the wet jacket before crawling on top of him.

"That's better," Theo sighed, a growl rumbling in his throat as he ran his hand up and down from Stiles' groin to his collarbone. His fingers gripped at Stiles' rain slick skin, clutching and squeezing possessively.  "This is how you should be, babe: naked and spread out for me. All mine. Always," he murmured heatedly, biting bruises into Stiles' shoulder, marking the human as his.  

Stiles pressed his eyes shut, arms limp at his sides, tears tracing down his face, indistinguishable from the pattering rivulets of rain. His body shook as Theo pressed against him, the rough edges of the chimera's wet clothing scraping his skin. Theo's zipper and belt buckle abraded his stomach and dick painfully as the other boy humped him with increasing fervor. Nothing felt real. It felt like it was happening to somebody else.

He thought of Derek's knife, tucked into the pocket of the jacket Theo had him sprawled across. He couldn't get at it right now, but he would use it if he could. The question was whether he would try to use it on Theo, or himself. The latter seemed the safest bet. If he slashed his own throat deeply enough, Theo wouldn't be able to save him. Even if he bit him, Stiles would bleed out before that did any good.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Stiles suddenly felt the brush of fangs enter into Theo's passionate biting. The sensation jolted him abruptly back to himself, slamming him back into the moment and dissolving his growing sense of detachment. He jerked, body tensing in a new kind of panic.   

"Theo!" he gasped, voice wavering as he gripped uselessly at the chimera's shoulders, resisting for the first time. "Theo... your fangs," he half warned, half pleaded. He didn't know if whatever the Doctors had made Theo was capable of turning him, but Theo's eyes were red and Stiles didn't want to take the chance. Maybe that was weird, maybe he should _want_ the chance to be made stronger, but Theo had taken so much from him, he didn't want to surrender his humanity to him too. Besides, Stiles didn't want to know what kind of monster he would become, what horrible things Void could do if he had the power. It had never been a concern before. Theo hadn't ever seemed interested in turning him, probably because it would make him harder to control, but Theo was no longer acting rationally, so all bets were off.

Theo pulled his head away with effort. "No," he murmured, more to himself than Stiles. "No, not yet. Not yet, babe. One day, but not yet. Not safe for you, not until those freaky fossils are done with their fucking hunt." Theo's breath was coming fast and harsh, he moaned like he was in pain, grinding urgently against Stiles and pressing his forehead into Stiles' shoulder.  Stiles saw strange, dark blotches shift and skitter along beneath Theo's skin. He wasn't drawing pain from Stiles, there was something else going on, an actual, physical change that his body or his will was trying to fight.

"S-safe?" Stiles croaked in confusion and unquenchable curiosity, despite the roiling nausea and fear clenching his stomach.

"Not gonna be anything supernatural left alive in Beacon Hills when they're done, not even me if they have their way. They think I don't know, but I'm not stupid," Theo spit, anger crossing his face as he kissed Stiles aggressively, almost punishingly. "I'll gather their fucking power for them, but I'll do it for _me,_ not for them. And when everything and everyone else is dead, they'll be the last to go. Then you and I will be free, babe. I'll make you pack for real, and no one will be able to stop us." There was a crazed, manic light in his eyes. He didn't actually say they'd live forever and rule the world together or any such ridiculous comic book tripe, but the look on his face was pretty damn close.

Theo rolled Stiles forcefully over onto his stomach and jerked open his fly with wet, fumbling fingers. Stiles gripped at the sodden fabric of the jacket under his chest as Theo tugged his hips up and spread his legs.

Stiles' heart was hammering, his mind spinning as the rough ground bit into his knees. Part of him was stuck, bogged down in the mire of what was happening to him, of the certain knowledge that Theo was going to force himself on him again _right now,_ but the part of his mind that could never be still was tripping around over what he'd just learned.

Whatever the _hunt_ was, it would leave Beacon Hills stripped of its supernatural inhabitants, and the Doctors would somehow gain something from all the deaths. It wasn't exactly a sacrifice, but the net result seemed more or less similar. Suddenly, it made sense why the Doctors had chosen _here_ and _now_ for whatever it was they wanted to accomplish _._ With the Nemeton drawing every supernatural thing to itself like moths to a candle, they were guaranteed the highest concentration of victims.

Stiles wasn't sure he understood it all really, but it whatever the details, it was clear that their plan was for everyone to die, and Theo was the weapon they intended to use to make it happen. Theo thought he was outsmarting them and that he could make it through this with his will intact, but Stiles could see in every line of his body that he wasn't and he wouldn't. He was losing himself to what he'd allowed them to do to him; it was only a matter of time.

Stiles cried out, pressing his forehead against the ground as Theo forced into him without prep and with no lubrication but the rain. Stiles gripped at the jacket under him with white knuckles, sobbing soft screams into the sodden fabric. He was still healing, and Theo was in no way being gentle. It hurt a _lot_ , but the pain was a familiar one. He didn't fight or try to get away as he once would have, it didn't even cross his mind. He'd been too well trained to take what Theo gave him.

Theo was barely holding onto his control and he fucked Stiles with a wild, urgent frenzy that reflected his mental and emotional state. He was somewhat sloppy in his haste, but still managed to nail the right places inside him over and over. He knew the human's body almost as well as his own, it seemed. It hurt like hell and felt sweet as sin at the same time.

Stiles sobbed and squirmed, body convulsing with conflicting sensations as Theo pinned him down and made him take it. Stiles would have thought that this would shatter him; that having to go through this again would break him. It didn't. Maybe it was simply his stubborn, contrary nature reasserting itself, but weirdly, the pain and familiarity of the act had the _opposite_ effect. The animalistic violence of the coupling and the unwanted heat of the arousal knotting inside him were strangely galvanizing. It seemed to burn away his fear and the dangerous, paralyzing lethargy of acceptance that came on too easily because of what he had been through.  

This would _not_ become his life. Stiles did not accept it, _could not_ accept it. Whatever confused feelings he had regarding Theo, whatever he'd been beaten and trained into finding somehow tolerable, he couldn't and wouldn't go on like this. Theo thought he was his bitch, that he could just push him down and fuck him whenever he felt like it and Stiles would take it and come crawling back to him for more, but he was _wrong_.  

Theo's violent motions scrubbed him roughly back and forth on the ground, the jacket beneath him bunching and wadding in his grip. Fingers fumbling with the wet, heavy fabric, Stiles managed to get his hand into the pocket. His hand closed around the grip of the switchblade concealed there and he felt a dark, eager pleasure burn through him.

He wanted to _gut_ Theo. He wanted to cut him open and splay him across the grass, wanted to watch that cruel, beautiful mouth gasping brokenly for breath. Fed by the brutal pleasure being torn from him, the sensations and desires that Stiles called Void rose inside him - hungry, angry and thirsting for blood. Theo had pushed Stiles' body close to the brink of climax, and Void wanted to punch the blade into Theo's chest over and over as he came, mingling the exhilarating combination of sex and savagery that Theo had taught him to enjoy.

Stiles wasn't truly aware of what was happening this time, wasn't conscious of the shift in his traumatized mind as the other aspect emerged, ready to kill for him and enjoy doing it.

A particularly blinding sear of lightening momentarily lit the night like midday, followed instantly by an earsplitting peal of thunder. Stiles felt it reverberate in his chest, and suddenly a fragment of a memory caught at him, brought on by association.

_Another stormy night near the hospital. The handle of his bat rough under his tight grip as he hurried inside with Scott. The strong sensation of wanting to bash Jennifer Blake's head in and **make** her tell him where his father was._

It was apropos of nothing, really, but like dominos falling one after the other, quicker than thought, a jumbled rush of vaguely related recollections tumbled after the first, connected by the thinnest of spider web links and bursting like a convoluted daisy-chain of fireworks inside his mind, each one only a few split moments in time, yet as vivid and tangible as if they were happening right now.  

_Standing on the hospital roof, watching Scott leave with Deucalion._

_Standing on the hospital roof, watching his mother and father._

_Standing on the hospital roof with a bag full of tools, fighting what at the time he perceived to be his own desire to cut the power cables and rain death down on the unsuspecting people below._

_Running through darkened streets, barefoot, like he was now. Running through streets and trees ... these trees, quite possibly. Running all the way to the Preserve with no plan in mind but the driving need to get far away before he could hurt someone. The sensation of icy cold as he'd crawled across rocks he could barely see and hid where he hoped to never be found while the insidious, cancerous presence in his mind fought to overcome him and make him forget why he was running._

Stiles sucked in a hard, stuttering breath, blinking wildly as if awaking from a dream, even though the nightmare was still unfolding around him. There was something dreadfully, alarmingly familiar in the memories of the night he'd tried to freeze himself to death in the Preserve. The sensation of becoming something _other_ rang too true in this moment of time and maybe, just maybe, that was why it had come to him.

Stiles' heart thundered in his ears and he blinked down at the folded knife handle he was now clutching beneath his chest in one hand. He had absolutely no recollection of extracting it from the jacket's pocket, or of when the rain had started to slow, or of when Theo's knot, now already almost fully formed, had started to swell inside him. He'd lost time, and, he realized, very nearly _himself_.

Reeling and confused, climax caught Stiles by surprise, suddenly quaking through his body with a sickening, shuddering force. He cried out, gut twisting as his muscles spasmed and his dick throbbed. It was an unusually cold and hollow sensation that left him feeling ill but also strangely clear-headed in its wake. 

Theo buried his knot deep in Stiles' hurting body, groaning against his back, almost crying out as he spilled inside him in hard, urgent pulses.

Stiles breathed hard and clutched the knife beneath him, his fingers blindly seeking and finding the spring-loaded button on the side. He felt suddenly very, very tired in the aftermath of release, but a grim determination was replacing the furious, blood thirsty hatred of before.

Theo needed to die, but not for _sport_ , nor even for revenge. He needed to die because as best as Stiles understood it, without a _beast_ , there would be no _hunt_. The Doctors had made Theo into even more of a monster than he already was and he was going to rain death and destruction down on himself and all of Beacon Hills, and, more importantly, on the people Stiles cared about.

That could not be allowed to happen. Stiles had to stop him. _Stiles_ needed to. Not Void. Stiles knew in that moment that he didn't _need_ Void. He was strong enough on his own; he always had been. There was something weirdly freeing and steadying in that realization. He wasn’t going to hide and cry in the dark and wake up with blood on his hands. He was done with that. He'd step off the cliff with his eyes open and take the consequences.

"Fuck," Theo murmured with ragged contentment against his back. "I get you home, I'm gonna spend hours knotted up inside you, babe." He rolled his hips, working his knot lightly back and forth inside the human's ass. "But we don't have the time now, got to hit the road. Try to relax," he warned, pressing one hand firmly between Stiles' shoulder blades to hold him down.

Stiles realized what Theo intended to do a moment before he did it, a little spike of horror making him the exact opposite of relaxed. "No! Theo, don't-!" the automatic plea was cut off by the ragged scream torn from Stiles' throat as Theo jerked his hips back hard, forcefully yanking his knot free from Stiles' body and tearing him badly in the process.

The pain was incredible and for a moment Stiles was incapable of doing anything but curling against the ground and sobbing. He struggled to deal with the hurt as Theo leaned back and zipped up. Stinging warmth ran down his thighs, mingling with the now trickling rain, a mixture of Theo's cum and his own blood, undoubtedly. It felt like Theo had torn his insides out. He doubted he was going to be able to stand. He didn't need to stand, he told himself grimly. He only had to be able to reach Theo.

"Th-Theo," he choked out, voice plaintive and desperate, not having to fake a thing about his agony. "H-hurts," he sobbed. "It hurts."

"Shh, I know babe, I know. You'll be okay," he promised, like he always did. Like it didn't matter how badly he hurt the other boy in the pursuit of his own pleasure as long as Stiles was eventually able to heal. Like Stiles' agony was supremely unimportant.

Theo knelt beside him, wrapping an arm around Stiles' shaking shoulders, clearly intending to roll him over and pick him up as he'd done so many times before when his attentions had left Stiles in no fit state to move under his own power.

It was a familiar enough pattern. Stiles knew what Theo would say, and what he would do. He allowed himself to be rolled over, and as he came around, he popped the switchblade open and stabbed it through Theo's throat, front to back.

It went in easier than he expected, or maybe adrenaline had given more force to his shaky motions than he consciously realized.  

Theo's face contorted with pain and shock, followed quickly by rage. He jerked back, reeling away from Stiles and striking his arm nearly hard enough to break it. The knife ripped free and went flying across the grass.  

"You f'king lil' _cunt!_ " Theo snarled at him around his wrecked throat, teeth bared in a furious grimace. His eyes burned with a wild, murderous light. "I'll eat your f'king _heart!_ " he promised, and Stiles had absolutely no doubt about his sincerity. Theo was not playing games this time, and he was out of control. One or both of them was not walking away from this.

Theo lunged into him and Stiles kicked him back as forcefully as his injured body allowed. Scrambling painfully on his elbows, he slithered around desperately on the wet earth, trying to get to the knife and honestly not expecting to live to reach it.

Theo was wild with fury, but seemed to be having severe problems following up on his rage. Stiles' kick sent him rolling. He pulled himself back up, but couldn't manage to stand. He wavered about on his knees like a drunkard, clutching at his neck and seeming unable to recover himself. Derek's assertions about the charmed blade's effectiveness were proving true, perhaps aided by the fact that Theo had already been injured to start with. The chimera was acting like he'd taken a direct hit of Kanima venom and purple black lines were crawling like poisonous rot across his skin from the wound, black blood and silver mercury pumping sluggishly down his chest. He lurched towards Stiles, snarling and gurgling like a nightmare come to life.

Reaching the knife, Stiles rolled away just in time to avoid being impaled, Theo's claws raking across his back instead, cutting across the still healing lines of the last, vicious beating he'd given the human, over a week ago. If he didn't die tonight, Stiles would probably bear Theo's marks forever, on his body and perhaps even more deeply across his heart and soul, but Theo would take _his_ marks to with him to his _grave_ , Stiles was set on that.

Theo half tackled, half collapsed on him, and they rolled together for a moment. Stiles was in _agony,_ but it didn't matter, it couldn't matter right now. Moving on dream-like instinct, he fought until he ended up on top. Pressing down with all the strength he had, he pinned Theo under him, ignoring the ungodly, stabbing fire in lower body and the way Theo's fumbling, panicky claws raked and gouged into his naked skin. It was just pain. He could push through it. Theo had taught him that lesson quite well.

Theo struggled like a cornered cat, more and more panic bleeding into his rage as Stiles sprawled painfully atop him, struggling to bring the knife into a useful position. Adrenaline and nerves were pumping through Stiles' injured body, making him feel both giddy and sick. Their eyes locked and Stiles saw a genuine fear there that he'd never seen before. Theo must be able to feel himself failing. His expression held a mix of terror, rage and disbelief as Stiles punched the sharp, charmed blade down into his chest.

Maybe there was some other way. Maybe Stiles should at least try to come up with an alternative. Maybe Scott would have if he was here ... but Stiles wasn't Scott. He truly believed Theo was past saving, and to be perfectly honest, he couldn't bring himself to feel like he needed to try. Maybe it was enough of a mercy to put him down before Theo lost what was left of his mind and reason and became something that it seemed like even _he_ didn't truly want to become.

Theo's change finally slid from him, leaving him looking human again as he lay sprawled on the wet earth, gasping and choking on his own blood. He clutched at Stiles, but his struggles were weak and ineffective. Terror burned bright behind his blue eyes, terror ... and something like heartbreak.

Stiles punched the blade into him again and Theo's hand tightened on his arm, his body shuddering in pain. "S-Stiles?" he choked in a strangely lost, plaintive voice, looking at the human like he couldn't understand what was happening and why he was hurting him, like he couldn't fathom the betrayal.  His eyes were swimming with moisture and Stiles couldn't begin to guess at the emotions behind the tears. Pain? Rage? Sorrow? Fear? All of the above?

"Stiles... d-don't..." the word was a plea, Theo clutching at him desperately with failing fingers.

Stiles should have relished it, perhaps. Should have felt a sense of satisfaction at watching him bleed and suffer, at making Theo beg as he himself had so often begged and pleaded in vain for the other boy's mercy. 

He didn't. He felt no joy, no pleasure in Theo's pain. No excitement was stirred within him by the sensation of the knife sinking into the chimera's body, or by the blood covering his hands. He felt neither angry, nor triumphant; he felt empty, and sick, and unexpectedly... _sad_. 

"I have to, Theo. You know I have to," he found himself murmuring in a hoarse, numb voice as he pushed the blade into him again.

Theo stiffened, an agonized groan catching in his throat. His body was starting to go slack, his hand slipping loosely down Stiles' arm. He blinked at Stiles with vulnerable, frightened eyes already beginning to cloud over and Stiles felt something unwanted and miserable twist inside his chest and catch in his throat.  

The realization that he really didn't _want_ to do this was both unexpected and unwanted and Stiles wasn't sure how to cope with it. He had to, Stiles _knew_ he had to, but he didn't _want_ to.  As bizarre and incomprehensible as it seemed, for just a moment at least, he almost _did_ wish there were some other way. Theo was a bastard who logically deserved what he got and Stiles would never forgive him for all he'd done, but he felt sorry for him anyway.

"Stiles..." Theo choked, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Stiles murmured, stupid, unwanted tears spilling down his cheeks as he leaned over Theo, dazed and in too much pain to do anything but kneel beside him and watch as the other boy's life ebbed away from him. "I can't let you hurt anyone else, or become this - this _thing_. I don't even know _why_ I'm sorry because you _so_ don't fucking deserve it; unless I'm sorry that you're a murdering, abusive _asshole_. What you did to me was crap, _total_ crap! You may think you loved me, but you don't _hurt_ people you love like that! You don't show someone you love them by _breaking_ them, and you broke me, Theo. You _broke_ me; but I'm not going to stay broken. I _won't_. You wanted me to be someone like you, but I'm _not._ I'm _not_ and I don't want to kill you, but I have to. So you're an asshole and you don't deserve it, but I'm sorry," he sobbed, voice tense with equal parts anger and anguish.

Stiles felt unbelievably raw. He found himself touching Theo's cheek with numb, trembling fingers as the spark of life flickered and dimmed behind the glazed blue eyes. Theo didn't deserve his compassion perhaps, but Stiles was a completely screwed up wreck who was trying to deal with intentionally taking another person's life as best he could. This probably would have hurt a lot less deeply if he had been able to feel more angry or vengeful right now, but the fact that it _did_ hurt so badly was on some level a strange reassurance. There was blood all over his hands, but he was still himself and his fragile grip on his sanity did not shatter. Maybe you could kill the monster without becoming one. _Maybe._ The jury was still out on that, but at least he'd gotten through it without becoming Void, and he hadn't enjoyed it, not even a little. You couldn't possibly enjoy something that made you feel this wretched.

Theo didn't speak again. There were no last words, no dying declarations or drama. He simply lay there gasping for a minute or two, and then it was just ... _over_.  Stiles didn't know whether his presence had made things easier or worse for Theo, and he had no idea which he hoped to be true. He really had no idea what at all he was feeling right now other than extremely hurt, confused and deeply, _deeply_ relieved.

That was how the rest of the pack found him an unknown amount of time later: still curled over Theo's lifeless body in the rain, rocking back and forth and sobbing softly.

Stiles didn't remember who eased him gently away from the body and pried the knife out of his tightly clenched fist. He didn't remember who pressed what against his still freely bleeding injuries, who wrapped something warm around him, or who lifted him and carried him back to somewhere dry and safe. He didn't remember _anything_ distinctly until sometime much later when he was in a bed somewhere, probably the hospital again. He was on the verge of exhausted sleep, surrounded by people who cared about him and the stray but almost unbearably hopeful thought came to him that he was safe. He was _safe._ It was _over_ and Theo was never coming back for him again.

For the first time in a long time, Stiles sank into oblivion without fear.

++++++++

No one blamed Stiles for Theo's death. Half the pack volunteered to say _they_ had stabbed him, if necessary, if there was going to be any kind of legal question that meant Stiles might have to tell his story in court or under pressure. The Sheriff, however, was certain that would not be an issue. He could of course not handle the case himself, but Stiles' hospital records spoke quite adequately for themselves as to what had been done to him. Theo had held Stiles captive and abused him for months and then he had _re-abducted_ him from the hospital and brutally raped him. What Stiles had done was open and shut self-defense, even without his side of the story.

_That_ took them a while to get, because Stiles more or less shut down for a few days after Theo's death. It was psychological rather than physical. He was not exactly catatonic, so much as he was simply unsure how to respond to anything and therefore it just seemed easier to not respond at all. The heavy medication he was on following the surgery needed to repair the damage Theo had done to him that night probably contributed as well. He was aware of his surroundings; he simply didn't seem to have the strength or the will to interact with them.

It would have been easy to ignore him in that condition, but no one did. Once again, his family and friends made an effort to make sure someone was almost always with him, even when he did nothing but lay there and stare out the window for hours. They talked to him, watched his favorite movies with him, and often just hung out in his room talking with one another, letting him feel included even if he wasn't up to participating.  It helped. They were like warm spots of color and light, slowly drawing Stiles back out of the cold, colorless places in which he wandered.

The first time Stiles spoke again was several days later, after Scott and Kira had settled down in chairs on either side of his bed to watch a movie with him. The familiar brass fanfare started up while the intro text scrolled across the screen and Stiles unexpectedly stirred, looking over and fixing Scott with the first hint of a smile he'd shown since his ordeal. "Oh, so I have to be in the hospital before you'll finally watch Star Wars with me, huh?" he murmured dryly.

Scott was so happy he almost cried and quite contentedly sat through an all-day marathon. Once Stiles breached the gap and started talking again, it was like the flood gates had reopened. Scott smiled and nodded attentively, pretending he had a clue what his companions were going on about as they watched and Kira and Stiles took turns explaining random minutiae of the Star Wars universe to him that they felt he really needed to know.

Stiles was a long way from _good_ , but he improved steadily after that and at least no longer felt unable to bridge the gap of communication with others. It was difficult to explain his feelings about what had happened that night in the rain, so he didn't really try. He did not regret killing Theo, but it was something he was going to have to learn to live with. Like Donovan, and like all the memories of the past few months.

It helped that the people whose opinions mattered most to him told him over and over that he'd done the right thing and that they'd have done the same thing in his place. It also helped that over the course of the following weeks, the Dread Doctor's plans all crumbled and fell apart, coming to a ruinous nothing for them in the wake of their loss. Stiles didn't really understand why they couldn't make another beast, or what their whole deal was, but it was enough to know that everyone was relatively safe for now, and there would be no more bodies, at least for a little while.

He still had nightmares about the night Theo died, but he had a lot of nightmares about Theo. It was an undeniable, constant relief to him to know that the werewolf was really gone, and not still out there lurking in the shadows, waiting for him to let his guard down. It was also fairly important to Stiles that he'd been in his right mind, relatively speaking, when it happened. He knew the monster was still inside him, and half his nightmares featured him as the villain, not the victim, but he desperately clung to the fact that even in a situation as traumatic as that one had been, he _had_ been able to hold onto himself, even if only barely.

It still worried him, though, knowing that the possibility of Void was still there. Now that Theo was gone, that fear only grew. In his dreams he turned on the people he loved, or on other innocents, and then he was naked and soaked in blood, trying desperately to hide from his friends and his father. If they saw him, if they _knew_ then they would hate him and he would be alone, and Stiles couldn't breathe, he couldn't _breathe_ , and he'd wake into a panic attack in the stillness of the night, gasping and shaking in a cold sweat, the panic and the fear haunting him for hours and leaving him unable to rest again.

In an ironic way, how very supportive everyone was being about Theo's death made the weight of the other secrets he held worse, because maybe they wouldn't be so quick to excuse him if they knew everything. Stiles was torn between wanting to just tear the wound open and stop living in such constant fear, and wanting to bury it forever and reason that no one ever had to know.

The darkness of his secrets gnawed at him, making him feel unworthy of everyone's support and regard, making him feel ill and antsy every time there was any mention of what he'd been through. The others didn't understand. They thought Stiles was running from what Theo had done to _him,_ that it was the memory of being abused which made Stiles flinch uncertainly away from them sometimes, but it wasn't. Stiles sometimes pulled away from his friends because they didn't know _they_ should pull away from him, because they didn't know what he was capable of. They still saw him as the same person they'd known before, and Stiles was too desperately hurt and scared to reveal the lie. He wanted them, he _needed_ them, but lying to keep them like this was unforgivable and he knew it.  

His inner turmoil over this was too great to maintain long term, and it finally came to a head around a week after Theo's death. Stiles was getting better, but still in the hospital. The officer in charge of wrapping up the details of Theo's death was taking his statement, which Stiles' doctors had insisted he had not been ready to give before.

Stiles could happily have gone a lifetime without recounting that night to anyone, but he knew it was necessary and he got through it all right. His father insisted on staying with him, and Stiles wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.  

Stiles related the abduction, rape, and subsequent fight in relatively flat, emotionless tones, gripping the blankets tightly against his knees. There were a few necessary changes, of course, since werewolves and chimeras could not go down into official record. In this version of events Theo had the knife, and claimed to have a gun, although Stiles hadn't seen it, which explained why he'd gone with him out of the hospital without raising a fuss. Stiles easily made these adjustments, but there were other white lies he refused to tell.

The officer asked several leading questions and it was clear he wanted Stiles to say that Theo tried to kill him or threatened to kill him, but Stiles wouldn't.

"I don't know," he said quietly, staring over the officer's right shoulder with empty eyes and an empty voice. "I don't know that he would have killed me, not ... not _then_. He wanted me alive. He always wanted me alive. But I couldn't ... I couldn't go back. I couldn't ... again. I just..." Stiles blinked and looked away, hands twisting and fidgeting in his lap. "I couldn't," he whispered.

John laid a protective hand on his son's shoulder. "You _saw_ what he did to him, Brian," he said quietly but firmly to the other officer. "You read the hospital reports. He was in fear for his life, end of story."  

The other officer, Brian, nodded and put away his notebook. "I know what justifiable homicide is, John," he said, slightly wry, but with a serious, compassionate expression. "You know I just have to do this right. There's nothing to worry about. I'll write this up and close it out. Stiles, you get better, all right?"  

It was a useless thing to say, but the man meant well, Stiles knew that, so he nodded vaguely, flinching a little at the click of the hospital room door closing behind him a few moments later. He had a problem with doors. The sound of an opening door, that little _snick_ of the handle turning and the flange drawing back and scraping across the doorframe, was inexplicably terrifying if it caught him unawares. It could send him into a panic attack for no good reason except that for so long that sound had heralded Theo's arrival. Closing doors were better, but still agitated him.

Wordlessly, his father crossed the room and re-opened the door, shoving a stopper into the gap to keep it held open a few inches. It was okay if Stiles _saw_ the door opening, it was when he heard the sound unexpectedly that it threw him. He'd never said so, but his father seemed to have figured it out because he generally took pains to keep the door from fully closing.

Sometimes, it was pretty handy that his father was so observant. Other times, not so much.

Stiles could feel his father's eyes on him now, didn't have to look to see the concern. He shifted around, feeling uncomfortable inside the light pajamas he wore. His healing injuries itched and it still felt weird sometimes, always having cloth against his skin after having been kept naked for so long.

Finally, he raised his eyes, glancing up at his father. "You think I should have told him he was going to kill me," he said quietly. "That would have made it more straightforward, right?"

John's eyes were troubled, but he smiled reassuringly. "I don't think you should say anything that you don't feel is true, Stiles," he replied carefully.

"You mean, other than leaving out the: _oh yeah, he was a werewolf werecoyote chimera hybrid_ part?" Stiles said sarcastically.

John's lips quirked wryly. "Yeah, other than that," he agreed. His face sobered again and he took a seat on the edge of the bed next to Stiles. He brushed his fingers lightly through Stiles' tousled hair.

"Stiles," he said quietly. "You know it _was_ self-defense, right? He _would_ have killed you sooner or later. He had no right to hurt you and you had every right to fight back."

Stiles shrugged. "Yeah, I know," he said, too quickly. "I'm good, Dad. It's fine."

John sighed softly. "I don't think it is," he said quietly. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay, just tell me to butt out and I will, but you don't have to be _fine_ for me, okay? It's all right to _not_ be fine, sometimes."

Stiles swallowed, a hard lump rising unexpectedly in his throat. "I'm glad he's dead, that's not the problem," he blurted before he could think better of it. Immediately wishing he'd kept his mouth shut, Stiles stared fixedly down at his lap.

"Okay, then what is?" his father prompted slowly.

"I... I just ... a lot of ... _stuff_ ... happened, when he had me. Bad stuff," Stiles mumbled in a very, very small voice.

John's manner turned even gentler if that was possible. He reached over, giving Stiles' arm a little squeeze. "I know it did," he said softly. "If you want to talk about it, I'll listen, Stiles. If it would be easier with someone else, Ms. Morel gave me a recommendation for someone you could talk to, someone who knows about all the ..." he waved his hand vaguely. "Supernatural stuff, so you wouldn't have to lie to them."

"You mean a shrink," Stiles said dubiously, immediately conjuring up unpleasant images of his last experience with the mental health industry.

"Yes," John admitted. "But nobody affiliated with Eichen House," he promised, as if understanding Stiles' reaction. "I made sure. You don't _have_ to, but it could be a good idea," he prodded gently. "When you're ready."

Stiles knew that this was a lot more than a mere suggestion. He actually wasn't all that against the idea. What could it hurt, right? "Yeah, okay," he agreed, happy to shrug the issue aside and placate his father with potential future solutions. Only his eyes wouldn't stop stinging and his breath wanted to catch and that was so _stupid_ it annoyed Stiles and he angrily wiped his nose and scrubbed at his eyes, trying desperately to act like he was just going to sneeze or something.

His father was not fooled. "Stiles," he said quietly. "Is there something you're trying to tell me?" he asked, with that damnable intuition that he occasionally possessed.

"Yes ... no ... yes..." Stiles waffled back and forth, snuffling harder and scrubbing angrily at his face. He felt like he was slowly suffocating under the weight of his guilt, he wanted to unburden himself, only he had no idea where to start and was terrified of the consequences. _Coward._

John said nothing. He simply wrapped his arm around Stiles' back as they sat next to each other, allowing Stiles the space to speak, or not, as he chose.

"There was a lot of bad stuff," Stiles whispered again, staring at his knees. " _Really_ bad stuff, Dad." His voice quavered and cracked.

John squeezed his shoulders comfortingly. "I know," he murmured. "I know, kiddo."

"No," Stiles shook his head, almost angrily. "No, you _don't_ know! I'm not talking about _him,_ I'm talking about _me._ I ... I did some horrible things, Dad. Horrible things." Stiles choked on a sob and buried his face in his hands. He knew he should shut up, but he couldn't, he was too raw inside, he couldn't deal with the guilt and the lies anymore. He needed to punish himself, even as he dreaded the cost.

"Stiles..." his father stroked his hair reassuringly. "You were a _prisoner_. You aren't responsible for anything he made you do. You're smart, Stiles, always have been, I'm sure you knew the best way to survive was to give him what he wanted. It doesn't matter what that involved. I've seen it before, Stiles, these kinds of cases ... and ... and I promise you, it doesn't matter how willing you had to act, okay? It doesn't matter what kind of games he forced you to play. You did what you had to to survive, and I'm so, _so_ damn glad you did." He choked off and had to clear his throat a little, his fingers incredibly gentle against his son's skin. "Nothing that happened was your fault, Stiles, okay? _None of it._ "

"Some of it was," Stiles countered, still staring at his lap. He didn’t want to tell ... he didn't want his father to know what he'd become. He didn't want him to look at him like he deserved to be looked at, but he couldn't hide this. He'd tried that route before and it only brought pain. His father deserved to know, they all did. They had a right to know that they needed to be careful, to protect themselves from him. He wouldn't hurt any of them again. He would rather just die.

"Stiles -"

"No, Dad, listen, okay?" Stiles shook his head, his teary voice strangely steady now, but incredibly desolate. "Just listen. I'm not ... I'm not talking about what you think I'm talking about. I get it, he raped me, he beat me, I learned to make him happy and offer myself to him in ways that made it hurt less and okay, that was probably technically still rape or something, I get it. I can ... I can deal with that. But ... things got ... really rough and I ... I don't just mean from him."

John reached out and took one of Stiles' fidgeting, twitching hands in his. It had to be hard for him to hear these things, but he did a good job of not externalizing whatever distress Stiles' words may have caused him. "Okay," he said quietly as Stiles swallowed and gulped for breath like the air had gotten thick. He squeezed his son's hand reassuringly and waited.

"I... hurt him, when we were having sex, and ... he wanted me to. I wanted to kill him," the statement was flat, factual. "Later, when I thought ... when I thought he'd killed all of you, I tried to kill him. It didn't ... it didn't work that time, but I cut him up really bad and things just got ... really out of control." Stiles swallowed again, hard, staring at his and his father's entwined fingers. He was starting to shake. He didn't want to say the words. His eyes burned. _He didn't want to say the words._

"I ... raped him," Stiles admitted, his voice hollow. "I found out afterwards that he more or less planned it to happen that way, more of his fucked up mind games I guess, but I didn't know it at the time. I did it because I wanted to, because it felt good and I hated him and it felt so damn good to just _hurt_ him as bad as I could and - and I'm sorry, and I wish I hadn't done it, but I did, and ... and I ... I mean ... I just ... y-you deserved to know."

Tears slipped down Stiles' face as he hung his head. He was trembling all over. It felt good and yet horrible to finally just get it out. His fingers tightened around his fathers, trying to get the last of the warmth from them, afraid for when the hand would pull away from him and the horror of what he'd just confessed would settle in. Afraid for when everything would change.

The hand did withdraw after a moment. Stiles let go, feeling the world start to cave in around him, but then his father's arms were wrapped around his shoulders again, pulling him into a tight, fiercely protective hug that he hadn't expected but that he need so very, very badly.

"I'm so sorry," John whispered into his hair, his voice hoarse and raspy with tears. "I'm sorry that happened to you, I'm sorry you're hurting, and I'm sorry that I don't know what to say to try to make any of this better. I feel like I should be telling you some wise and meaningful words that will help you get through this, but I ... I don't know those words. I don't know how to make any of this right, and I swear to you, I _swear to you,_ I would if I could. So I'm just going to be honest and tell you that I'm not sorry you hurt that son of a bitch, but I'm so, so sorry that it happened in a way that hurt you too."

Hot tears fell into Stiles' hair, John's shoulders shaking softly as he held onto his son. Stiles leaned into him, savoring the warmth of the embrace and the beautifully blind and unconditional love that he needed right now more than air. He sniffed, tears still rolling down his own face too as he turned and hid it against his father's chest.

"It was _wrong_ , Dad, how could I do that? What if I do it again? I-I can't ... I don't want to be that person. It's in me. It's _in me,_ Dad, and I don't know what to do," he sobbed. "There's something wrong with me," he whispered. "I'm - I'm _bad_ inside. I thought it was because of the Nogitsune, but I think it's just _me._ Theo said I was like him. I told him he was wrong, but maybe he was right." The words tumbled out, jumbled and confused and full of pain.  

John rocked him and rubbed his back soothingly. "No, he wasn't," he assured. "Stiles, I know no words can really help with what you're going through, but I've heard it said that we are all better than our worst actions, and I believe that. If I've learned one thing from my job, it's that we all have the potential for darkness in us. We're all capable of being monsters. It's the choices we make that define us. Sometimes we make bad ones, but you have to weigh that against circumstances and all the other choices that have been made. You were in _hell,_ Stiles, and you were pushed into doing a bad thing. That doesn't make the thing less bad, you're right, it was wrong, but you never would have been in that situation if it wasn't for Theo, and the fact that it's hurting and tearing you up like this, as much as I wish it wouldn't, that _proves_ you're _not_ like him. There is _nothing_ bad in you that isn't the result of trauma and psychotic supernatural forces," he said fiercely. "You're the best, brightest, bravest, most loving and loyal kid I've ever known."

Stiles choked on a watery laugh. "Right, 'cause you're not at all biased or anything."

"Hell no," his father agreed, smiling through his tears.

Stiles sniffled. "I - I don't know. I think sometimes maybe ... Mom ..." he couldn't finish, but he didn't have to. John knew. He hugged Stiles tighter.

"Stiles, your mother was _sick,_ you know that. We've talked about this before. You know firsthand what it's like to not be able to trust your senses or know what's real and what isn't. That's all that happened. Something went wrong in your mother's brain, and it made her think awful things that weren't true. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't protect you from that better, that you had to see it when you were too young to understand, but I promise you Stiles," his throat closed off a little. "That your mother _loved_ you with everything she had, when she was herself. You have to remember that too, kiddo. You weren't so young you don't remember all the good times, right? You remember how she used to read to you and play finger shadows on the ceiling before bed? How she'd intentionally get herself into some ridiculous situation, wait for you to find her, then wait for you to run off and put your batman underwear on over your clothes so you could come rushing back in like a little midget superhero to save her?"

Stiles laughed through his tears. "Oh my _God,_ Dad, I was like what, four? I can't believe you remember that."

"I'm your father, remembering embarrassing childhood stories is one of my solemn duties," John told him, still rubbing his back. "I love you, Stiles. I have always and will always love you more than anything in the world. There is nothing that could ever happen and nothing you could do that will change that. You're stuck with me, kiddo, and I'm gonna be right here beside you no matter what, okay? I know everything hurts right now, but we'll get through it somehow, I promise."

Stiles was crying too hard to tell his father that he loved him back, but he felt like John knew. So he just burrowed into the safety of his father's arms and cried for a while, feeling ridiculously like a small child and not at all caring.  He didn't exactly feel _better_ afterwards, not right away, but he felt ... lighter, perhaps. The hurt wasn't gone, but one part of the weight pressing down on him had been lifted and it gave him hope. He felt like maybe, he could breathe again, a little.

When it became clear that Stiles would not feel comfortable with his friends until he no longer felt like he was lying to them, John told Stiles not to worry, that he would take care of it and that everything would be okay, which, amazingly, it actually was. Stiles wasn't sure exactly how his father had explained it to them, but nobody hated him afterwards, and no one pulled away. They forgave him, and even if it would probably be a long time before Stiles was able to forgive _himself,_ it was easier for him to relax and to accept the care and support of those close to him now that he didn't have so much to hide.

Stiles did try talking to the therapist that had been recommended to them, and although he initially suspected he would hate it, he found that he didn't, especially when he discovered that he didn't _have_ to talk about Theo, he could talk about whatever he wanted to. Sometimes it was nice to do that with someone you didn't know and who didn't judge. 

There was a part of Stiles that felt like he was going through the motions of life without really living it, a part of him that knew he had been irrevocably changed, but then his life had been frequently marked with abrupt and total changes, hadn't it? He'd made it through those, so he'd probably make it through this too. Nothing ever really stayed the same in the long run. There was no going back to the way things had been, but there might be going forward into something new, and that wasn't bad, not when he had so many people willing to walk beside him while he tried to find his way.

Stiles was determined not to let Theo win. Theo was not going to get to take his life away from him after the fact. Stiles was far too stubborn and contrary for that. He _would_ heal. He _would_ move on. He would put his life back together, one day at a time, no matter how hard that felt sometimes.

When Stiles was eventually released from the hospital, his father took him home, warning him on the way that a surprise party was planned with the whole pack and several sets of parents in attendance.  Stiles appreciated that, happy to act surprised, but not really up for _actual_ surprises just yet.

Some kinds of surprises were good, though, especially in the form of good news. After balloons had been thrown around and the "welcome home" cake had been cut and served, Lydia's mother informed Stiles that the high school was going to let him graduate with the rest of his class and worry about sorting out all the time he'd missed later. Stiles hadn't actually thought to worry about that until now, but he was glad. It felt like a little victory of some kind, a part of his life that Theo had not taken away from him after all.  

Everyone was full of news, tonight, it seemed. Scott, Lydia, Kira and Malia had some of their own. They had apparently all casually just _happened_ to decide, quite independently of one another you understand, that with all the stress they'd had going on in their lives the past few years, they should really take a year off to attend to things and just focus on life a little, before making any college bound plans. Their parents were all suspiciously supportive of this plan.

They all had their reasons, mostly a lot of bullshit. Scott said he'd feel better being able to have more time with Liam to make sure he'd be okay when he left. Lydia mentioned something about devoting time to a particular interesting project that would look good on her applications (as if she wasn't already accepted into whatever school she wanted). Kira had some barely believable story about wanting to spend more time with her parents learning to understand her fox spirit, and of course Malia had never been in a hurry to leave and actually _could_ benefit from an additional year of adjustment before being plunged into yet another new environment.

They gave their reasons very carefully and clearly, but they were terrible actors and Stiles was not at all fooled. He let them have it their way, since they'd obviously gone to all that trouble, but he knew the truth. He knew they were really doing it for him. Stiles was struggling to adjust back to normal life. He was struggling not to freak out about opening doors or when he saw someone walking with a cane. He was struggling to remember how to behave in a world where every move he made was _not_ in fact likely to earn him a beating, or worse. He was in no way emotionally ready to be tackling the stress of moving and college and all of that just yet. His friends knew that and were unexpectedly determined to not leave him behind.  

They were a great lot of idiots, but the idea that they were willing to put their lives on hold for him like that was incredibly precious to Stiles. Eyes stinging, he found some excuse to turn away and fuss with the cups on the table while he struggled not to ruin the light atmosphere by doing something dumb like crying.  

"Everything okay, Stiles?" Lydia asked from behind him, tone light but soft.

Stiles blinked harder and turned around with a cup of punch. "Yeah," he said voice scratchy but his smile genuine. "Everything's great." For once, he wasn't lying.  

If anyone noticed the red-rimmed glisten in his eyes, they didn't comment. Instead they all mock-solemnly bopped their red solo cups together, toasting to friends, to family and to the future.

It was an odd kind of party; usually the presence of so many adults would have put a damper on things, but not tonight. The adults gravitated to the kitchen; the kids gravitated to the living room, and everyone had a pretty good time, even when the adults eventually decided that they all needed to play lame group party games that none of them had played since grade school or that had, apparently, been popular back in the stone age when their parents were young.

It was actually rather hilarious though. Stiles had not laughed so much in a long time. He was on the beginning of a journey, and there would be many rough days ahead no doubt, but there would be good days too. There would be pain, but also laughter.

_Yes,_ Stiles thought as held his aching sides, incredulously watching Kira and Malia locked in a very, very serious battle to see who would be the first to push a peanut across the room with their nose, _there would be a lot of laughter._  

_**FIN** _

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Love Is Crazy, We Are Insane](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4929664) by [LiarOnTheWall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiarOnTheWall/pseuds/LiarOnTheWall)




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